The Masquerade -

There’s blood on the walls, on the chairs, on the floors

And the dancers should be quarantined

The doorman departs after stealing a kiss

His lips curl into something obscene

And the dresses and gowns look like Dracula’s sink

And the band’s only playing one tune

And the king to the queen is nowhere to be seen

Having gone out to howl at the moon

Put gold in your pocket, jump into the river, sharpen your teeth for the

masquerade

And there’s eyes in the punch and there’s somebody’s lunch

In a puddle next to the dead bouquets

The host is aghast as the compare at last

Thinks of something offensive to say

And the waiters hold platters of p45's as their pockets are robbed of the air

The masks are more kind than the faces behind

And nothing looks holy in there

Put your gold in your pocket, jump into the river, sharpen your teeth for the

masquerade