The Masquerade

There's blood on the walls, on the chairs, on the floor
And the dancers should be quarantined
And the dormant divines 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
Put gold in your pocket, jump into the river
Sharpen your teeth for the masquerade

And there's ice in the punch and there's salt by the sludge
In a photo next to dead bouquets
And the hostess aghast as her compère at last
Thinks of something offensive to say
And the waiters all blacked as the P45's
As their pockets are robbed of the air
And the masks have all come and the face is behind
And nothing looks holy in there

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