Curses, smiles, sapient wiles, a fiendish liturgy of the night, Lust, malaise, glittering displays of hash, subterfuge, and delight, Curates, young turks, obscene clerks of fuck havens and corporeal blight, Bards, sages, cabaret stages, the anarchists diatribe of fright; The city is alive, unfettered and wise, and holds wonders, prurient and bold, to any lost soul, by fault or design who's desperate to believe what he's told, the carnival of lights and scintillating colors, glitter, as if pure and unblemished gold, and the vendors of the strange and bizarre montage prove you're a fool by what you've been sold, the carnal frenzy and enchanting myth, though, is easy to mistake in the cold, for the illusion of warmth and relative safety is fain from a spells arcane hold; The forlorn reality of the cobbled streets inspires fear of the pleasant and urbane, and while screams of terror are understood, the real knowledge of the city is pain, greed, torment, tribulation, and want, various bits of the urban decree of gain, anguish and cold laughter, ever-present danger, the message of the streets is quite plain, the Faustian longings for power and fortune, a familiar refuge of the brutal and vain, are there for the taking, a gift from the city, when one exits the realm of the sane; As she glanced back, Lot's wife saw, before she met her fate, illusions of beauty, fantastic treasure, and the thousand disguises of hate, and although she'd been warned, never again to gaze through the city's gate, she heard a plea she couldn't resist, "Look back before it's to late," because temptation is the law in the kingdom of vice, the city's a sductress, an enticing mate, lust, hunger, thirst, and need, so many delicious urges to sate; We all look back, we always will, to satisfy our need to be certain, that the actors are gone,along with the props, and the stage is empty beneath the curtain.