Part 3

(This next one is from personal experience a little, minus the bloodbath of course)

Three

Wrapping themselves in familiar threads
Like empty catchphrases
The support band
Played to almost silence

Throwing themselves
Into each song
With a inhuman energy
That stank over their clothes

Bemusing them
As the chant Doom
Rose slowly in the dark
Until it became almost a hum

Anchoring itself
To any hope
Of attracting new fans
With a invisible kick

Leaving them thinking in the station
After the bloodbath
They had all looked 
Like rabid dogs.