She's under age.
She goes to shows.
She throw her briefs, like all the other girls do
But when she's safe at home, where no-one can see her.
She light her incense on, and pray to the prisma god. 

Crystals and magic stones, pentagrams and unicorns, zeta reticuli.
Affliction buried deep within, potions like amphetamin.
Nightly visits from her dad, converted into new age cults.
Hail to the prisma age.