Dance, dance, dance the dance of the dead
The limp weight of regret weighing you down.
The hooded man puts the deathline around your throat,
He pulls the lever and you go down, down, down.
Which way to go, too many to decide-
you reach the end, only to crack?
Or are you light enough, is it tight enough,
That the breath of life forces its way out?
Dangle and twitch in the knotted lace,
Sway in the gentle breeze.
The creak of lumber is the music,
The sway of death is the Ballet.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Glacian, in the year 533 AF.