I stir a cauldron in the sky
Of cumulus clouds drifting by
I give them life and change their form
Convert them to a thunderstorm
I did this with my arms through dance
I raise and turn them in a trance
It isn't luck or happenstance
Nor serendipity or chance
For from the speaker at my feet
I pull the rhythm, rhyme, and beat
Combine with passion and with heat
As if a 3-course meal you'd eat
Into my body, out my hands
The very point of being man
Transistor Source and energy
With love and creativity
And though it smacks of witchery
It is my grace and gift to thee
