The ladies in corsets,
Wearing a mask,
The Gentlemen with roses in their pockets,
With vain as fragile as glass...
Basked in accolades of their evening gowns,
Designed to known prejudices,
This emerging frown,
To suit masked repentance...
A silver chalice,
For glee to trickle down from a mysterious path,
For the glum that has become load until the final grave,
To ease the misdemeanors of inheritance from the hearth...
Bound by juvenile dreams,
Elevated to a scrumptious life,
This Royal creed,
To bliss the jive...
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Groove to the era