When euphoria takes hold, it bewitches us, On this racetrack, by time long deserted, Many spectres slip in behind the bandits thus, Right-hand men of the house, immersive drive towards madness.
The sounds produced by these cylindrical reels, In exchange for colors rendered so surreal, What pleasure to touch them, to blend with their music, Numbers that no longer exist within the mind.
From curious minds to passionate players, Young and old, and those beyond persuaders, All against a common enemy with too often the upper hand, The one who secretly holds an absolute advantage in hand.
There is no trap nor grand oracle in the sky, What they don’t tell you is you’re the immortal actor, oh my, The investor who does all the work, that’s all, In silence he mocks you, still, standing tall.
From the railway track to Jack’ hall, The dome that wraps this fanciful path’s enthrall, Offers fine allure on macabre scenery’s wall, A ground for those opportunist, waiting for the fall.