Tristan Robert Lange

Wild Child

When I was back there at the rock concert hall,

There was a person there

Who put forth ice to chill the heat,

A passion meant solely for them—

Meant solely for them—

Meant solely...for them.

That passion is hence forth no longer theirs!

I sought out my own asylum,

A space for my feet to dance,

A place for me to dance.

Marijuana joints and chocolate shroomies,

I danced my heart out—I had the zoomies—

I couldn’t stay trapped in that frigid hell,

So I kept on dancing and strutting my bell, you see?

I channeled the man up on the stage,

Still showed my love despite my age—

I turned the page.

Jigging hard,

Moving my bones,

Dancin’, jammin’

On my own,

Reveling, dancing, on the floor.

Lifting my shoes,

Getting views,

This hot dancer

Jigged the blues.

A cop got mad.

So I laughed a little.

Yes I did.

Hahaa!

This was the best part of the dance,

This was the dance, the best part,

He didn’t like.

What did he say?

Yeah.

“Sir, right—

You okay, huh?”

“Yeah, proud to be dancing to this”, said I.

“These stressful days are here to stay,

“My love still won’t look my way.

“I will dance till my last day—

I’m a wild child here to play.

Ain’t nobody—not even you—

Gonna get in my way.”

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

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