The news picks a panic, the

The news picks a panic, the trend picks a name,
Fear gets the wheel while they call it a game.
They point the whole room where the current should flow—
No one sees the smoke till the mirrors say so.

It’s all just magic, matter of fact,
A hand on the dial and a hand on the past.
If you know, you know; keep your voice down low—
It’s fine till they find out you know.

Some see it late, when the years blur the view,
Some get psyched out, some need something to get through.
The trick stays simple, the timing stays clean—
Look over there while they set the scene.

No cape, no wand, just a headline on cue,
A little push here, a little pull through.
You can call it a feeling; you can call it a show—
Just don’t let them know that you know.

The smoke clears slow, but the mirrors still glow.
If you know, you know.