He wins and jeers and sits and cheers and loses and who says strange words that confuses.
But for all his whim and dashing trim he's bound up, wound up, he's ready for sin.
This skin he bears, drained and cold, grows thin with wear, and frees his soul.
The Prantercalt lives inside he's cosy, got a stellar ride, but anger burning, envy churning, these the weapons at his side. Don't let him out, he'll run about, and you'll find your mind'a turnin.
About: A personification of negative personality traits.