The parlour was inviting. It was radiant. It was quaint. How they'd laugh and they'd joke and they'd dance and they'd gloat to the soundtrack of distaste. The trophy was a vampire. Dead but, dressed up to the nines. The practiced vivacity seemed satisfactory if obvious in design. But, you're better than everyone. You're better than everyone else. Don't forget about me when you're famous. When you're famous and you make your way through the streets paved with gold will you take us? Will you save us? I'm your biggest fan. The trophy was a vampire. He was hanging upside down. Man they closed him down quick as they clawed and they licked at the bloodstains on the crown. The bad step was enchanting and your crosshairs were divine. With silver and hope I could love you the most said the spider to the fly. But, you're not fooling anyone. Like moths to a flame. Like flies around filth. Click. I bet you say that to all of the boys. Click.