A Dance

Two sides of life, within a ring, merging to deathly swirl around, and here someone's playing swing, the faceless wearing a crimson gown. One can't define who is in power, and where the dark and where the light. The reddish passion is in flower. One can't extinguish fire fight. The passion lances and the music sounds. Who made this festive world of dance, taking a chance, the lonely will is bound and comes to an ecstatic trance. And the musician feels true malice more, the dancers' movements getting loose, the keys of nights an' days during the course beat out a rhythm and give the blues.