An old abandoned warehouse loomed dark in the distance, fog encasing it. The man-beast known to Gotham City as “Clayface” approached, his erect form dripping with anticipation.

“Hello darkness, my old friend.” These words crept up on Clayface unexpectedly.

“What? Who is there?!”

“I’ve come to talk to you. Again.” The voice’s location was unclear.

“Alright, I’ve just about had enough! Where are you? Show yerself!”

“A vision, softly creeping, left its seeds while I was sleeping, and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains—within the sound of silence.” These last words cut Clayface like a knife.

“Damn you to Hell! You demon! You Baphomet! I command you to reveal—”

The man with the face of clay was abruptly interrupted as the man in the bat costume came down at him with a tremendous glide kick!

“Oof!” “Shut up, you!” Garfunkel emerged from the shadows.

“Nice work, Garfunkel!” the caped crusader congratulated, “Thanks to your lyrical prowess there is one less criminal on the streets! :D”