Walk with the foot of the drum and tell your heart about a conga love. Broken pieces of me forming a mirror yet the mind is no China in the sun. Walk with the foot of the drum and tell me what percussion life did to you in those drunken nights that we never saw starry skies. I'm dying in your arm tonight and its funny how time flies when picking flowers in your eyes. We have told our secrets to the moon and I'm sure the stars will build a sky different in it name. Walk with the foot of the drum and sing our troubles away.