Pt.2-Your Tuxedo Won'T Be Needed Anymore Poem by Not The Pilot

she's dressed up in her ballroom gown
she has her grand entrance perfected
before she walks in the door, she checks her reflection
she walks in with elegance and grace, looking dead on arrival

she catches eyes, she's an eyeful
she'll take your breath away
she looks down when you look at her
that's the game she likes to play
she takes center floor
she whispers get closer

you could, but you won't, because you're scared
because she has everything you don't
and the halo in her hair has you caught off guard

so she walks off, you turn around
she goes back to find her place in the bottle
she gets to her state of mind
where she can't see straight or walk a line
she can't stand up, she's meeting the floor, close to dead on arrival

when she fell, she landed in the sky
looked up to see the gates
'sir, do you see my name? '
'sir, do you see my name? '
she knows the reply
she asks to waste time
she's dead on arrival