At the witching hour,

The flames in my chest begin to twist,

With the sleight of hand,

A snitch of silver buttons from my crimson cloak,

Compulsion,

Tugging scarves out of caldron bellies,

Boiling with boastful tongues,

Through extrasensory perception,

Printing my deepest secrets on folded cards,

Twiddling chains around jelly wrists,

He tells them to fear not,

But this ghostly force is bloodcurdling,

Occulting the stars-,

I’m hypnotized! Until the truth was revealed,

Golden coins aren’t born from ears,

And a sorcery rope,

Is knotted with lies.