What is it like to die young in a date?
Is there complete quiet with no uproar?                                                                          
Or could there be music, that is one great?
For that the dancing tale that I must gloar.    

Her ball room is seen by the candle lights
It's dark and cold yet kinda of painless
The great music, from the middle age nights
She walks among a lifeless and black dress

She'll take your'll hand to dance in her gain
A dance you won't know, cause there you have no right
You spin not knowing the cause of your pain
Then you fall, eyes closed, the light of white

Now, a ghost remembering my last breath

I tell about my dance with lady death