Tragedy turns with exaggerated expressions -- 
           never pausing to consider moderation. 

              It is not a moderate endeavor.

               There is no graceful movement; 
                  no comfort in its dance. 

                    Only the Whirling -- 
           Turning with wild abandon to the dark. 

     Tragedy is passion spent -- a residence for sorrow. 
               It languishes in broken songs. 

            It has no rhythm worth remembering, 
                 no harmony binds its word. 
           There is no rhyme to slow its pace -- 
              only dischord -- flat sounds -- 
      a disenchanted melody punctuated by broken hearts.