Through circles on the pale river, your face appear so bright and clear. Voodoo drums play in my heart. I’m a subject of black art.

And when you’re moaning in the wind that blows, my dreams all fall like dominos. Voodoo drums play in my heart. I’m the subject of your black art.

Say is it just a coincidence that you show up wherever I show up, and every time you’re there there’s this beat pounding in my heart? See, I’m bound to wonder why but I guess I’ll never know why I can feel the devil’s groove each place that I go.

Ohohoh, those voodoo drums keep playing in my heart! ohohoh…