Leftist in a Turtleneck, Carousel in Review

I heard the kind of music you would hear in a corridor with red velvet walls,
the kind that just housed a murder,
and our work would be no good for each other anymore,

the fedoras had gone out of style,
the rimless glasses those of a racist from half century ago,
with black plastic at the top,

and we could be good for you,
we could yell and throw each other down to the ground,

we could drink highballs with old fashioneds and orange peels,
we could do a lot of things to remove the saccharine,

but it wouldn't be enough,
enough to mitigate a self fulfilling prophecy,
and it wouldn't be enough to get out the blood stains