The clock strikes twelve, the witching hour.
When demons come into their power.
And succubi tempt honest men
to succumb to evil lust again.
Though honest men are not averse
To dreaming dreams which are perverse.
They dream of forbidden delights
which titillate the appetites.
They would deny indignantly.
But in their dreams they are quite free.
To indulge their fantasies.
They aren’t quite what they claim to be.
Beneath the public mask they wear.
Their inhibitions disappear
When they’re asleep or so it seems
They can enjoy salacious dreams.
Which do no harm to anyone
When they awake the dreams are gone
Almost as if they’d never been
Projected on their mental screen.
So they can sin vicariously
Although they still pretend to be.
Pillars of the community.