The Moulin Rouge of minds is intertwined with mine,
And though my heart denies my soul aligns alive.
The opera always soaring, the show it must go on,
Yet little voices in my head shout push on, push on, push on.
Tossle feathers flash, skirts in black and gold and
Rumours flutter through the mills like warm air in the cold.
Manic faces and steely eyes, echo shrill my moral sighs,
Decisions rush and moments lapse, never will my mind relax.
Curtains fall like morning snow, church bells ring and we all will go.
The smile on my face is the only trace of the icing I stole from the Moulin Rouge cake.