We're condemned to the dance that never ends. With the exaggerated etiquette of the cursed we hold hands and bow. The same every night we dance, watched only by the sentinels of stone that circle this barren hilltop. There's no light to guide our feet, only the howl of the forlorn wind to provide our rhythm.
Unseen in the dark we spin and pray. Always begging for release from our unjust punishment. A celebration of love long damned by Heaven's sight. A love now faded with roses of blood. Our prayers left unanswered and so on dead limbs we dance.