Tristan Robert Lange

Satanic Panic

’Twas all those years ago, when I was young,

Y’all taught me to fear my soul is his prize,

That Satan prowls around where art is strung.

“Don’t role play, don’t conjure up Satan’s spies,”

You’d say those things with a serious face,

No TV where men had all the power,

Because He-Man is to God a disgrace,

Stealing souls for Satan to deflower.

Yet, here you are today liking orange

As the new red, one who has never bled

But from the ear, spewing fear—makes me cringe—

And you believe everything you are fed.

You all are acting as if you’re manic,

Not far off from your Satanic panic.