I'm wired and amped; my feet know the last dance.
   What's a poor old end-run death dog to do 
 But surrender to music's honeyed trance,
   Waltzing to it like dreams that seem cuckoo?
 But nothing 's crazy at last dance juncture --
   Just before the call for all to get lost:
 When sanity stretches but won't rupture,
   And one can see crystalizing hoarfrost.