It's three in the morning.

Blue man, Stygian woman

Slowly.
Carefully.
Move to the rhythm,
But don't try to catch it,
Let it chase your clicks and clacks.
The music will slow down as well,
Waltz will turn to L'amore dice ciao.
You will find a man sadder than the blues,
Dancing with a woman in black, black dress.

Join them,
But not too close,
The others are closing in.
Mind your footing now, lass.
You don't want to interrupt them.
They're dancing through the gallows,
Striding through fine corridor of good houses. 
Behind the stanchions of Palace of Versailles.
The sun king will turn and weep six feet under.

But offed with his head,
and off with theirs inevitably.
Off with yours and mine eventually,
So stop staring and focus on the paces.
They've been waiting their whole lives for this.

Under the night,
Starless, Stygian night.
Let them have their dance.
And bless them in your heart.
Bless their footsteps never in doubt.
Their eyes never waver by the dying of music.

Soon,
Farewell.
But remember dearly,
The night waits in wanton.