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You create a hell for the ones to buy your illusion
You design a spell that you cast upon the forsaken
Hortative
You engender temptation
Re-create
Invent the latest sensation
Procreate
Produce the perfect delusion
Your god is digital
You erase the deviations
Adding beauty to the frail
Dreams contrived upon a drawing-table set the pace of the vain
Trust the vagaries of fashion
Do what an the others do
Total loss of independence
You've always wishing you were someone else
You behold your victims inane
Opinions cast aside
And when they try to change
And try to find their native demeanor
They are frozen out. precluded from the coven from the mass of fools

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