Set the stage
Participants come take your place
On a waxed floor marred with scuffs
And trenches where dancing feet have dug in
Come feel the champaigne bliss
Rush through your head
And out through your fingertips
As you hold on so tightly
You could break with your grip
His skeletal shoulder blade
Then laugh as you trip
In your slightly drunken stupor
It's not a sloppy mess falling on the floor
A rush of down feathers as your dress comes up
As I stare at your smile
I think I'm in love
But we are tied to this dance
And as fate would provide
Meant to be with other partners
Until the musicians have died
Clutching their instruments
And up on that stage
Until the whole building collapses
And is engulfed in flames
And if you should kneel down while my strength wanes
To hear the last words of a dancer in chains
I would surely tell you:
"The dance is over and
The end is near
However, I can still hear that music, my dear."
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