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The Red Shoes - Stephin Merritt
A bad young girl with hair white as milk
Got witches' shoes which shone bright red
And had been finely woven from the oldest silk
With drops of blood to dye each thread
She put them on when she began to dance
She heard the witches play their strings
Which have been finely tuned to dying elephants
And to the shrieks of toppled kings
She pirouetted and she grand jetéed
Et cetera till she was out of breath
And when the last note had finally played
The bad young girl had danced herself to death
