This “norm” like a loony bin,
You pay the price to enter in,
An experience of sorts is had by all,
Joy the official protocol.
Dress up in this as that,
Wear the most stupid looking hat,
Expense a look from some boutique,
Join t’others the aim to be unique.
Not the same, but actually the same,
Have a laf moths dance to the flame,
Gather around staged monoliths,
As each wants to be laughed with.
Reminisce perhaps a drinking song,
Of getting off, now maybe getting on,
Joys and laughter sitting around,
On some muddy tent filled festival ground.
Over Soil 