rhythm is both the song’s manical and it’s demoinc charge. It is the original breath , it is the whisper of unremitting demand. What do you still want to be said of the singer? What do you think you can still draw from my lips? Exact presence that no fantasy can represent. Purveyor of the old secret, alive with the blood that boils again, And is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart. How your singer’s blood is incensed at the depth of sound. Lacerations echo in the mouth’s open erotic sky where dance together, The lost trenches of rythm and an imploring immobility... Ladies and gentlemen...miss grace jones...jones the rhythm