Loops and Reels
A Ritual Mask
The Moebius Loop
A Ritual Mask upon the wall furnishes his surroundings and he thinks that's all. A Ritual Mask, its power still strong, a memento of his travels, that he got for a song. He got it for a song. It was the song of the centuries undisturbed, the song of secrets and power words; 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, a song of a debt repaid,
a song of justice, a song of a hand unstayed, 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.
Indecision and uncertainty catch you now as they never have before... how come you didn't recognise the revolving door? Are you going to take sides on the chequered floor? It used to be so easy, you saw everything in black and white. When you lost track of all the moves you'd made you lost faith in wrong and right. It doesn't seem conceivable, look what's happening in your hand. Is it just a trick of comprehension or a master plan? Oh, the change in your perspective, from the gutter now you stoop... how come you didn't recognise the fiery hoop? How are you going to take sides now you're on the Moebius Loop? Now you're on the Moebius Loop.