White Magick Woman
She’s
a gypsy travelerMelissa Kolmar And she holds your heart in her gypsy hands, The lovers card sticking out of the waistband of her jeans. She reads fate in the many lines and creases In her hand, Traces the past across the stars, Gathers energy from someplace hidden in her soul. She dances to drums that pound like a heartbeat, Sings the songs her ancestors put into her blood, She is the gypsy angel that haunts your dreams. She is a spirit tangles up in silver threads of magick, And the gold dust from stars coats her body till it shimmers. She is a gypsy traveler with your sad, sad heart In her gypsy hands. |