In the dead of blackest night,
The guillotine blades burning bright,
The gallows swinging left and right,
So begins the dance.
Stationary bodies dance from their tombs,
Gripped by the music’s toxic fumes,
Held in the music’s snatching plumes,
The dance will now begin.
The deceased have now begun to dance,
In a captivating, macabre trance,
A leap, a bound, a skip, prance,
Caught in the dance of the dead.
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My Awful Life That I Wish Was Like My Book
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