Masquerade of the Gunslingers

Decadent, nearly divine
 Their shadows dance like velvet moonlight
 In the mezzanine above, they applaud
 Transfixed by the dancers, silently awed
 The sterling attraction - the ballet of the gun
 Murder in cold blood, as art in motion
 Masquerade! They rise and they fall
 A pirouette, in the cadence of song
 One mask falls down, another appears
 It's not what they see (Not what they see)
 It is what they believe (What they believe)
 It is there, at the crux of their judgement
 Fantasy becomes the desire
 The tragic poem ends as it begun
 And the men in the masks in death will live on
 Awash in gold and velvet, with wandering eyes
 You feel it burning within you, you're paralyzed
 Please take my hand, and step into the night
 The great Dionysian facade
 Is held upon our backs
 The callous belief in blood elegant
 Perpetuating from fathers to sons
 Spiraling down
 Spiraling down
 Spiraling down the grand halls of the dream