As the devils dancers dance their dance infront of me I watch in amazement at their beauty. They dance their dance dripping in fire lit rubies with dark skin an endeavors cheers. I sit an I watch, I watch as I sit with my intriguing interests as their rhythm stills me. He plays the band, trumpets an all as the spin of his many faces switch to now and again. There is no fire an there is no pit, but there is the intoxicating rhythm from the the devils dancers that dip.
They’re up and they’re down, their jumps can’t be matched for they are the dancers that dance with vengeance. I tap my feet his puppet of puppeteers, who’s body is possessed by all of the princes many faces that I do not fear. Maybe I’m home or maybe I’m lost, it could be a lesson to which I am owed. I may not know but the devils dancers do dance their vulgar movements. The same rhythm he requests again and again from them so up an down they go. The dance of seduction, the dance of control, the dance that requests my full attention weather Im willing or invoked.
When the prince gives the order I too am his bird. Dancing the dance I had just unknowingly learned. For he has control the puppeteer of puppeteers has demanded that I dance along to his beautiful one man band. The violin the trumpet the saxophone an clarinet, all telling a story of the most hated fierce fallen prince. Not quite a serpent not quite as beautiful as they say, but neither I nor the devils dancers could deny that the rhythm the prince played was anything short of heavenly…! – Donnie Sharrell