désir de mort

We are those who find love
In the muffled click of men's black shoes,
Scandal in the satin of an undercoat
Whispering across the hanger
From fingers of condemned footmen

We find ballrooms as traps
Glittering with breathtaking death sentences, 
Pouring glasses and standing still
As lovers dance with woman

Graveyard weddings 
Whispered vows
Necklace of rope in place of a ring-
Celebrated for the death of a man,
Yet dead for the love of one;
Moth-eaten dinner jackets rot like bodies

We are those who find love
In the darkened shadows of a quiet room,
Cascading into history
As friendship in the whispers of scandal
Is taken as freedoms from the dead

'Til death do us part,
'Til shame finds us dead,
'Til the dance ends, my love...