Catoptric

He could fake the secrets
In blue portraits believing
It would cause such wonder
They trusted cruel deceivers
When he comes how could he lose?
His charade, his smoke is quiet
He would lie to play the fool
For parades we know he despises
Cunning crow shows us everything in his underworld
With a mouth of crescendo crimes and (oddly) teenage rhymes marching on june
(The month of all the secrets, drops of blue and yellow villains)
That sagacious sinner could light up non believers
When he comes how could he lose?
If he's met with shame and sobbers
Would he lie or play it cool
To carve any fate desired?
Someday I should lie so I too can play with fire
When he comes how could he lose?