With a chill in the air, the ghosts roaming and the presence of ghouls, we put on our makeup and set off to Die Freche Muse.
Two stunning girls from a different decade, draped in pearls and velvet, not willing to fade,
Into the walls or out of sight, a room full of drinkers dancing into the night.
So I tip my bowler and straighten my pin, lower our morals for a night of sin.
We played the piano and we tripped the wires, we broke glasses twice and put out the fires.
And lived happily ever after, just like those fairy tales, when good beats evil, and the haunting men always fail.
So, as we danced, and we sang, and we argued and we ran, climbed the rickety old stairs to a different land.