They build a wall of skull and bones,
These masters of deception,
Then at themselves throw sticks and stones,
To garner our affection.

They out themselves with shock and awe,
Suspending our belief,
They kindle us with hay and straw.
To cry for some relief.

They season us, they stir the pot.
They beat the drums of trance.
Darkness is their Camelot,
Twilight’s where they dance.

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