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.