Down the coast, at a man's place called  "La Luna",
Where sweet breezes breed nights of romance,
In the rust bucket port of Fortuna
Live some rats with a passion for dance.........

On a barge filled with garbage they gather,
As day's last rosy rays fade to night,
And they dance, for there's nothing they'd rather
Than to boogie 'til dawn's first light............

When the rats of Fortuna go dancing,
And they do - any night there's a moon,
They begin with a kind of a trance thing,
Twirling 'round on their toes 'til they swoon....

Then it's samba and frug, and fandango!
Or a tango, quadrille or cavort.
With a snack break of fishhead con mango,
Rats refuel for more foot stomping sport....

As they spin in a wild tarantella,
Or glide 'round in a dizzying umbrella;
How they sigh when the dance music halts....

Whisker deep in the papers and peelings,
Carefree rats rediscover their joy.
Celebration surrenders to feelings;
Paradise for rat girl and rat boy......

To the rats, dancing means self-forgetting,
Never letting mere crap color life.
To let loose for an hour, and cease sweating
One's interminable ration of strife......

When the world sends you questions for answers,
And the other is crowding your space,
May you dream of Fortuna's rat dancers,
And wake up with a smile on your face......