Masquerade

Heavy hitters, lager, bitters
Baron Samedi, bottled, breaks the bread
Jesus Christ isn't in the place
Distanced, God retreats from England's face

Oh- concerto with a serviette
And Robert Eggers in a minaret
Pirouette down to the policeman's parapet
And grass up the Bloody Baron's bashful sense of set

Now the trip kicks in (I don't mind)
The trip kicks in (I'll get by)
The trap sound playing in the background
'Let It Bleed', professed from Lennon's face

I do declare
That sin infests this sordid place

The pianist prepares a chloroform rag
While the dancehall fills with faces masquerading as the bad
History repeats as the band begins to lag
On a ragtime piece, let loose, barraged by bullets from Baghdad
And the military grade champagne flutes shatter glass
Suspended in mid-air with circus acrobatics clad
In SS suits of old, as the Zyklon forms the mould
And the masqueraders slowly drop to the crystalline floor



Credits
Writer(s): James Crawford
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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