by Sherard Harrington
Listen, you can tell it to my heart, you smooth operator, but we all know that the rhythm is going to get you. Those girls are always looking to have fun in our house, so sure, I’ll take you home tonight; come on Eileen, let’s dance, and when I think we’re alone now, I’ll melt with you. You can take my breath away with your open arms and careless whispers, because—I’m so excited—I just want to dance with somebody. Those Bette Davis eyes are invincible though, you heartbreaker, and that’s what keeps me holding on through those manic mondays when I’m stuck in cars having a total eclipse of the heart. “What does love have to do with it?” you ask, oh sweet child o’ mine, which was hitting me with your best shot. “I love you always and forever,” I say, because it must have been love, it was so automatic and like a prayer that had gone crazy on you when I was alone. What about love, that eternal flame that broke my stride? Well, as the saying in those sweet dreams (that are indeed made of this) goes, “Another one bites the dust.”
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