The spell is spoken, the score snared
Fruit for awaiting mistress.
Captivate them a little more
With modern magic of mages.
So many years the secret's been kept;
all can join, but few are asked.
There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth
In the silent outer darkness.
The victims are ready, at beck and call;
The fools await their turn.
With deep breathing, sighs, and continued vox,
The sorcery deepens.
O does she not see woven nets
Of notes and rhymes and keys?
She throws them almost callously
O'er accidentally snared.
Like beasts in traps we await our fate
At siren's fatal hand.
Yet still she sings the solemn song
That spells some's sealing dooms.
