Sometimes the dance floor is empty

When you look around the dance floor, you see a fringe of people. They drink, they dance, they move, they glance. And somebody on the far end of the bar table opens his wallet and touches a photograph, very very tenderly. Dedicated to that stranger in Fire and Ice who, well, reminded me to miss.

You weren’t supposed to matter,
I wasn’t supposed to care,
It was understood I’d stay here
And you’d simply move on there

You don’t really matter
And I don’t really care
I like being here
Just as you enjoy being there

But sometimes when there’s music
And longing runs free
I catch myself thinking
Of the way you danced with me