The Red Shoes - Stephin Merritt

A bad young girl with hair white as milk

Got witches' shoes which shone bright red

And had been finely woven from the oldest silk

With drops of blood to dye each thread

She put them on when she began to dance

She heard the witches play their strings

Which have been finely tuned to dying elephants

And to the shrieks of toppled kings

She pirouetted and she grand jetéed

Et cetera till she was out of breath

And when the last note had finally played

The bad young girl had danced herself to death