May I have this dance tonight,
In darkness a prelude to twilight.
Do you hear the poets of piano play,
Schubert’s last three sonatas,
Chopin’s nocturnes in melancholic grey.
Musical chords in harmonics low,
Sweeping cold winds softly blow.
A face in its peerless grace,
Lost in a languid dream of trance divine.
Ride along the heights of heaven,
Scribbling names in the stars.
The constellations may come alive,
In celestial history till end of time.
Good O’Charlotte weeps tonight,
Of each teardrop one star falls.
A bereaved heart a raging inferno,
She is dancing in hypnotic sorrows.