The undead are dancing,
as they become betrothed.
The dark wave is pounding,
as the Machine foretold.
Swaying in and devout,
to a strange kind of Hate.
Say I do with a shout,
be my dancing mate.
The chapel will be a hot-funk,
with Mz. Samantha and Xander,
spinning Goth mixed with Steampunk,
for your Pretty audio slander.
The reception hall gets on your whirl,
with Dark Electro and New Wave.
The room steams hot with a Melting Girl,
and Tomas Diablo dj’s to your grave.
dead beat poet 