Divina

Divine, you are programmed for the dance
and in the shiny ship you will glide
in your hands of metal there are reflections of roses
and wind and cars hang from yesterday.

Tenderly I will call you when the moon sings
and your face will be a star on my pedestal.
Gently embraced by your impassive wolf
we will dance all our lives in the dances of Mars
rock!

You talk about light and I talk about the night
when monsters have women's names.
David Bowie knows it and your mommy too
there are things in the night that are better not to see.

I see you dance with stickers on your ass
and you move the faces of your fans with your rhythm.
You are a golden witch, you are a little gangster
you were with Kaka de luxe but I didn't hear you sing
rock!