Ballroom Doom

A shroud of dark and eerie gloom Hangs over the static ballroom In the air, the scent of too-strong perfume On the floor, glass swept by a little old broom An end has come to every game The paint paper man is trapped in his frame Behind the glass, his head hangs in shame Cards fallen off tables, the forks all aflame With feminine fingers unfurled, there she lies All signs of life drained from the blue of her eyes Lips are just parted, holding back "why?"s But it was too late; she had met her demise A gunshot to the head Was it something she'd said? Guests fled as she bled Found doors locked, seas of red And the dancers all screamed As the man bled them out The musicians' eyes gleamed With tears full of doubt But yesterday's over And we're left with the mess Of events that wove her Black funeral dress