They move in droves,
Swarms of disconnected hearts,
Connected by the invisible,
Puppets to a master puppeteer.
Entranced by the sounds,
A relentless pulsating rhythm,
A mating call,
A call for freedom,
Gyrating to the wild rhythm of a toxic organic sound.
Hearts lost to the soul of music,
Without music there is no heart,
Without heart there is no sound,
No translation to the language of riotous hearts,
No meaning to the toxicity of wild riotous hearts.