A room in the past swirls around
Full of bright beaming faces
Their expressions, so foreign from my own

Some scheme for the weariest of frames
Barely clung to their brides
Their souls, overrun with self-doubt

There are ghouls
Who shadow my ailing slow dance
With a beauty I have desperately swept
Into my envious, imprisoning arms

The night is but a cruel death spiral
From partner to partner
How they scowl the whole way
To the lows of their shame

The night hammers at my resolve
Until I crack and cascade
Into bright worthless shards of glass

And the beauty who I hardly knew
Slips away, from my crumbling embrace
Sailing off, in the endless rotation
The spiraling death dance of our age