Died of Dancing

I saw Mrs. Troffea through my kitchen window, looking rather pale and thin though (I dunno) Whilst her face looked weary, her body moved in frenzy Wild & tempestuously. Really! I called “Ma’am, are you alright? It’s quite after midnight. The moon is off-white and very bright. She looked bang-on at me, all contorted, ghastly And said, no, gasped at me - “Do you know why it is I cannot stop dancing? I try to calm myself but I keep on dancing My feet are killing me, hips are failing me, I can’t breathe oh.. Can someone tell me why I cannot stop dancing? No really sir, I think that I have a problem - I’m out of rhythm~the beat is missing ~it’s non-existent” Then from out of nowhere, people came and joined in, and boogie’d down until the morning (not me though) What a sight to witness , peasants in the dawnglow with muddy pantaloon-o’s (psychos!) “Hot blood” cited officials. “Excited individuals”. And from my window, I saw them call in musicians! To play the rhythms to get it outta their systems But they were screaming now - “Does anyone know why I cannot stop dancing? I’m serious I really cannot stop dancing My toes are blistery, knees are history, I can’t see oh.. I cannot breathe and yet I cannot stop dancing My hair is shedding, teeth are rotted and rancid It’s been a week I’ve been on this street, I can barely speak-oh The sound of scuffling sandals echoed out across the wind Hordes of people bobbing, bleeding from their scabby shins One by one they’d wig out, then collapse down on the ground Piling up and forming a disturbing body mound There they swayed and writhed and crunched. Those poor 400 souls Falling to their death exhausted, don’t know how to stop Music made it worse, that was a very bad idea Not efficacious, more contagious, less than gracious, quite hellacious Now my whole family’s buried in those mountains And all my friends are dead, they died of dancing