Close your eyes…
Go to sleep.
Imagine a majestic lion. Piercing eyes; fiery, flowing mane; glossy, golden coat.
Moving with grace and agility which belies its size and power, it leaps onto a platform – to the applause of an enraptured audience.
Their adoration of the animal, though, is curtailed by the sudden appearance of a spotlight.
Beaming down onto the stage, it illuminates a man in a dazzling waistcoat and tophat: the ringmaster.
Having stolen the king of the jungle’s thunder, he cracks the whip he clutches in his hand—
Cracking the whip he clutches in his hand, he approaches the beast…
Growling, the fierce big cat bears its dagger-like teeth – then pounces!
Arming himself with a nearby footstool, however, the liontamer uses the four legs of the furniture to confuse the beast, holding it at bay.
Taming the wild creature before the spectators’ eyes, they shower him with flowers and the same adulation formerly reserved for the lion.
Spotting an apex predator in his natural habitat—The Slaughterhouse—you had to make an exhibit of him.
He has the killer instinct that you know is necessary to make Nightmare Academy the only show in town.
Marching into his ring with confidence, commanding his and the crowd’s attention, you used props and theatrics to trick them both.
Punters think you’re a lion-whisperer, but I know that your routine is all smoke and mirrors.
Distracting and seemingly taming SeeSaw before our eyes, you make a big song and dance of sticking your head in his mouth, showing that you’re in control.
As with every other big cat you’ve pulled this stunt with, though, you’ve had him declawed and his teeth filed.
You merely maintain the illusion of control, and the fantasy of power.
What you haven’t considered is that the beast you’ve been taming belongs to a pride of monsters – and I’m the alpha.
I’m the biggest, meanest, son of a bitch lion that you’ve ever come across.
Flee, and I’ll chase you down like antelope, moving with deceptive, deadly dexterity.
Stride into my den at Fuck The World, and I’ll break your legs.
Grab a chair with which to disorient me, and I’ll snatch it from your hands and wrap it around your skull.
Crack the whip, and I’ll wrap it around your scrotum and pull it tighter and tighter until I castrate you.
No smoke; no mirrors. My performance will reinforce to you that I’m in control, and the power lies with me.
You can try to upstage me, and to steal my thunder, but you can’t catch lightning in a bottle.
When I pull my thumbs out of your eyesockets, and they pack up the big tents and rides, ready to travel to the next town, there’ll be a sign left in the circus’ wake:
Here lies The Greatest Showman who ever lived.
Come one, come all, to Fuck The World. Step right up, and witness The Greatest Mauling of all-time.
Sweet dreams, Moody.
One, two, Sandman’s comin’ for you…