Satin Couches

Girls in extravagant dresses, twirling, whirling,

Spinning with theirs hands in the air.

Men in top-hats and over-coats, bowing, kneeling,

Gasping for the breath they have lost.

Butlers with fine black tails and thin, pasty-white skin,

Holding trays of delicacies.

The hosts bare gifts, necks weighed down by their necklaces,

Wrists weighed down by priceless bracelets.

Through the floor-to-ceiling window the sky is blue,

The clouds are white and quite fluffy.

The couches are satin, littered with emeralds,

Rubies, diamonds, gold and silver.

The orchestra plays their strings with thin, skilled fingers,

Their flutes and pipes with careful breath.

Pause; Rewind.

Girls in extravagant dresses, twirling, whirling,

Spinning with their hands in the air.

They are screaming, swords slowly edging towards their hearts;

There are guns pointed at their heads.

Men in top-hats, bowing before the enemy,

Grasping at the skirts of the girls.

Butlers with tails tucked between their legs just like dogs,

Holding empty trays up as shields.

The hosts’ necklaces are chains, as are their bracelets;

Their crimson smiles are made of blood.

There’s a dark gray storm on the horizon, growing,

Stretching out it’s blackened fingers.

The couches are satin, littered with emeralds;

Ironic death-beds for the damned.

The flutes slow and the pipes falter; the strings all pause;

Then the orchestra falls silent.

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