The Thunder Bellyed Prince and the Puppeteered Senate

*Like the previous posters, these are plastered wherever the people could find space.*

There once was a Thunder Bellyed Prince!

He was the champion of all the land! All the warriors raised their mugs and cried, "Here here!" but then came a new Dawn, and swept in the Puppeteer. He appeared in the hall of truth, he threw out the Stone Hammer and the Black Smoke, he cast them into the frozen wastes! He replaced them with puppets, all those whom know rifles, religion, arms, tradition and war, all seats were controlled by one. And this puppeteer was a puppet himself to the beautifully evil Dark Sphere.

Wake up Prince! Wake up! You can stop this before it's too late! But do not hesitate! Meet your fate! Save your people from the Puppeteer's strings!

Your loving watcher.

Comes by one of the posters, reading as she will with a finger on her chin.

"Why do they have to go in riddles....We know Gogol's belly is big already!"

*Anaei just blinks*

"Thunder Bellied? ..Eh? Dorik?"

*shrugs and moves on*

(( Tee hee hee...


This Vicious Cabaret

They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life's a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret...

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary see
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrwled upon the crumpled page...

There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover's thigh but have squeezed a nation's threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery...

There's a girl who'll push but not shove and is desperate for her father's love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There's a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There's thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There's something hear for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
There's mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard's carnival, this vicious cabaret.



(This song is actually included in the V For Vendetta graphic novel, it was actually released as a song at one point, though I fail to remember who sang it...Google implies it's someone called David J. I had the song on my old computer, but it fried and I haven't gotten it since.) ))

*Reads the poster*

Wait....what...I don't get it? What are they saying? Erm...I am supposed to do what now?

*thinks for two minutes, then gets a headache and walks off*
*Obviously, clearer language is required for Dorik*

* after reading the poster, Celinda Blackcog, Gearholder of Magic, shakes her head*

-"If they put half as much effort into actually killing that idiot as they did trying to write poetry, things would improve a lot quicker..."