Sigils scribbled on the office walls.
An orphan shadow haunts the cubicles.
This banshee bastard has an etiquette that makes the secretaries panties wet.
It's a six, six, sickness.
The sacrifice is such a pittance.
So spread those legs like a disease and kiss this devil on the cheek. Your vice is decadence: objects and compliments.
Baptized in bottled water/well-dressed and on the altar.
Contaminated by the apparition with a symptom masked as superstition.
What we need here, boys, is a pink slip for a silhouette.