The orchestra strikes its haunting tune
And dancers gather ’neath the light of the moon
As it peers through the windows on the twirling parade
Of red and gold masks—such a festive charade!
Throughout the ballroom, the music soars
’Round velvet drapes, o’er marble floors.
In hypnotic patterns the dancers turn
As the face of their partner they try to discern.
But silver glass along the walls
Reflects the image of an empty hall
With cobwebs draped o’er chandeliers
And curtains tattered by the lonely years,
Where naught but dust moves ’cross the floor,
Swirling in silence forevermore.
Mere shadows of the masked soiree
Dance in the spectral masquerade.