(no subject)

The hotel, it burns; it smolders, and creaks
The patrons do naught but pull up their sheets

They curl up and snuggle, all warm in their beds
As the flames dance and tickle their heads

Down in the ballroom, the curtains are raised
The orchestra sits poised and ready to play

The dancers arrive to glide through the ash
Making their statements, both bold and brash

As the fire keeps rising, amidst no complaints
Mourning will come as flames lick their remains