Tisk Tisk, Mr. Smith

Tisk tisk, Mr. Smith
She slapped her hand with the pointer
Looking up, I see she’s stern
I stand, wishing to anoint her
I am commanded to about face
I’ve committed an infraction
Taking stock of my flesh
She swoons in satisfaction
But I’m returned to my kitchen
Now pouring a cup of Lady Grey
The kettle broke the spell
My imagination had taken me away

We Kept Dancing

We kept dancing

Long after the record stopped spinning

On the verge of your dreams

The fire’s low; the air is thinning

What happens tomorrow 

& long after we’ve awoken

Will these dreams ever return

Will this spell be forever broken