She walks alone down a sleazy backstreet. Around a corner up an alley to a dead end. There under a small blue light. She enters an unmarked doorway. (A low heartbeat a low pounding escapes into the night). This is a place she goes to fulfill a very basic need. Something people have been doing since the dawn of man. To communicate without talking. If she needs something. She makes a gesture with her hand. And mouths what she wants. She wants to make a connection. A certain kind of connection. No this is not about something from the black market. This is about no questions. This is about smoke and sweat and beats. This is about no message. CHORUS:. Take your partner by the hand. He's a woman she's a man. What's so hard to understand. Take your partner by the hand. Mona in the promised land. Take your partner by the hand. Keep it simple if you can. Take your partner by the hand. At the club they circle around some sex goddess like vultures. Flashbulbs popping. Like bees around their queen. She is completely indifferent to all the commotion. And orders some mango tango ice cream by sign language. She's approached by some wild-eyed poet drunk with love. I like her easy refusal the way she shakes her head. She lives these days in the attic of an old dance hall. That's been shut down for years. And swears there's times when she can hear feet shuffling below. And can see the shadows swaying moving to the music. CHORUS (first half). Elevator going up. Fifth floor. Lady's handbags shoes leather accessories and electronics. Wait a minute where am I on this elevator to nowhere. Going up going down. Then like a hallucination. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. Studying some shoes very carefully. She definitely had a particular purpose for these shoes in mind. Then as quickly as she appeared she disappeared. Back into the slash and burn of New York. Ah stuck in traffic. Crosstown the stress of not moving. She described it as like being locked in a car. With a madman behind the wheel. And the radio tuned to static. CHORUS.