Down around the bannister, and out into the night,
Debbie crept out of the farmhouse, palest stars her only light.
Straight on into the stables is where she made her flight,
Grasping tightly in her tiny hands a gallows-man's delight.

Up the ladder, through the loft, and 'cross the mighty rafters high,
She fin'ly reached the center, gave the floor one final eye.
There was no one there to question, no one there to ask her why,
Such a waste of her performance, Debbie thought with a small sigh.

Debbie turned her thoughts to labor; there was no time for romance.
As she worked she never spared the world outside another glance.
If someone would have come, they would have had a unique chance;
They would have been the very first to ever witness Debbie's dance.

With her rope tied to the rafters, Debbie stepped into the air;
She knew the rope would catch her, she knew it would be there.
There was a snap, there was a yank, a whipping of her hair,
Then Debbie's dance begun as she dangled from her snare.

Debbie danced inside the stables, to the rhythm of the rope,
Debbie arched across the floors with not a sound.
Debbie danced to her own heartbeat, as it slowed and slowed and slowed,
Debbie danced, though her feet never touched the ground.
Debbie danced between the rafters, she would kick and twirl about,
The groaning string that backed her playing from up top,
Debbie's dance went on and on, she never rested for a breath,
Debbie danced, until her music fin'ly stopped.

In the morning when her father walked in through the stable's door,
He saw the remnants of her dancing from the night before.
With a rictus grin upon her face, Debbie swung and swayed some more,
'Til her father, struck with horror, fell prostrate upon the floor.

It was hours yet before her mother, too, would stumble in,
Quite distraught to find the father sharing dancing Debbie's grin.
She fled the stable right away, found solace in her gin,
She, too, danced a few weeks later; Debbie taught her how to spin.

In that little farmhouse far away, the halls lie quiet now.
Or, at least they remain quiet for the day.
But at night, the grounds will fill with the haunting, quiet sound,
Of dearest Debbie dancing high above the hay.

Debbie danced inside the stables, to the rhythm of the rope,
Debbie arched across the floors with not a sound.
Debbie danced to her own heartbeat, as it slowed and slowed and slowed,
Debbie danced, though her feet never touched the ground.
Debbie danced between the rafters, she would kick and twirl about,
The groaning string that backed her playing from up top,
Debbie's dance went on and on, she never rested for a breath,
Debbie danced....
Until her music fin'ly stopped.