Hit me again,
Mr. Trumpeter man,
You prodigal son,
reformed
You’re a captured man,
With a free right hand,
In a world where no soul is mourned.
Hit me again,
Mr. Trumpeter man,
Is that sweat or holy water?
Cuz the way you play,
I could dance my way,
Into heaven or to my own slaughter.
You could save my life,
Mr. Trumpeter man
You play puppeteer with my emotions,
And I move and I sway,
Dance my nights away,
Surrendering to your every whim
or notion
Anonymous