Beneath the glare of stadium lights so bright,
They dance in shadows, hidden from the sight.
With microphones that hum with ancient power,
They face the darkness in the midnight hour.
Their rhythmic steps create a sacred seal,
As silver blades beneath their capes they steal.
The bass begins to thrum, a heavy beat,
To force the ancient demons to retreat.
A high note pierces through the heavy air,
A sonic blast that strips the monsters bare.
With glitter on their brows and iron will,
They move with grace, prepared for every kill.
The fandom cheers, unaware of the war,
Of talismans and blood upon the floor.
Each synchronized routine, a lethal spell,
To send the prowling spirits back to hell.
When morning comes, the idols take their bow,
With weary hearts and sweat upon their brow.
The world is safe, the velvet curtains fall,
The hunters rest until the shadows call.