Once upon a vapid musing, I laid listening to rapid music.
                         A flow of gothic fusion, refusing the lull of that to reuse it.
                       This is the great illusion, a hero to them of mass confusion.
                   The myth and curse of heroin, a high with little need of intrusion.
                    Introducing the conclusion, scarecrow thin self-satisfied skeleton.
                                 Because the ego needs no bone with marrow in.