Enigmatic and erratic
We are the beasts that none have seen.
Esoteric and barbaric
But only when we need to be.
None of us have names
We don’t even exist behind our masques.
None of us have faces
Only the lies your eyes tell you.
We have our festivities to lure in all the ignorant tourists.
They don’t know us.
When the doors close and lights dim
When the music plays and the couples dance
It begins.
There’s a cold breathe in the night air.
There’s a hint of death on everything in the ballroom.
And our Queen,
The Queen of us all,
Our sweet Queen Pernisia
She pours the wine,
She starts the party.
Tradition is the only way that we live to see any other days,
Without it we are nothing.
Without her we can’t live.
The tradition of the damson dress
The girl with the crimson hair
And the emerald eyes that see farther than any eye can see.
This girl who wakes only for us is the only girl that we will ever trust.
We wear our masques to hide our emptiness
When time has ran out.
We throw the ball then bring people
When light has run out.
We wake the girl to release us
When chains fall on our arms.
There’s a method to the madness.
There’s a reason for our transgressions
We need out of the  beautiful oppression
An escape from the world of The Masquerade.