Up and down the cobalt walls some run
Looking for Rita Hayworth
Chanting reverberates from guard and prisoner alike
As each settles into their pillory, to watch
Shadows held aloft, electrified by the current behind them
Cakewalking for a puppeteer with looped strings
A man from outside stoops down
To rescue the prisoners from their cobalt dungeon
Those still skittering, refusing to be pilloried
Drag the man into the grime
Shackle him to the stock
As the proselytized prophet
Is made to profess the same hymn
As the once and future converted