Dark, swirling faces loom from the depths of space.
Our Allies consorting with such vile things,
A plague as their name base,
En-slavers of beings.

With millions of innocent souls erased without thought,
The Grand Master stands at high a greater villain.
Yet, morals question whether we ought
To cure the sickness with penicillin.

The burning of guts,
Both physical and mental,
Our mission betrayed.

Alarm tolls through the Citadel,
Once, twice, thrice.
They each hold dear to their
Opinion, fear, anger.

Others cry
Treason, violence, a treaty broken.
Only one sits with level head,
Seeing yet not, tall and firm.
The Mountain of Selen.

With shadow kissed blades,
We will conquer our foes' might,
Light and dark unite.

Our guts tighten as
Blue zapped bodies flying,
His cackle dripping.

Ooh I smell their sweat,
Taste and hear their pumping blood.
Teeth long to bite deep!

Fingers tap against sleek surface,
Eyes narrow at flickering lights.
Before the lightly clad figure
Was several meetings,
The attendees unaware
Of this dark listener.

Mwahaha!
Alas, they are not aware
That I, DARTH Pravus,
Is the four time winner
Of the Antei Dance Championships!
Cower at my powerful pirouettes!
Bow towards these aggressive lounges!