Upon the wall
Furnishes his surroundings
And he thinks that's all.
The Ritual Mask,
Its power still strong,
A memento of his travels,
That he got for a song.
He got it for a song.
He got it for a song.
It was the song of the centuries undisturbed,
It was the song of secrets and power words;
It was the song of a culture not grown immune
To the virus of progress,
To the theft of the tune.
The Ritual Mask,
The evil eye
Inhabits his apartment,
Inhabits his mind
With a song of vengeance,
With a song of a debt repaid,
With a song of justice,
With a song of a hand unstayed,
With a song of a culture as old as the hills...
That sits uneasy on the living-room wall
Like a snake about to kill.
The Ritual Mask,
It won't take long
Before he finds out the bargain
Has turned out dreadfully wrong.
Oh, he got it for a song.