Held like a prisoner

Good Day Friends, I woke up in a basement in someone's house in Sault Ste Marie. There's 70's porn styled wood paneling everywhere and dead animals above my pull out sofa bed and people speaking in loud hushed tones with a touch of mauve (if that's possible) while I try to eek out a few more hours of shuteye. Sleep ain't happening so I grab my handheld device and listen to Bruce Springsteen sing about The Promised Land. This is my coffee. "mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man and I believe in the promised land!" I love that song. I'm playing a wedding today but I'm a surprise to the bride and groom so I'm being held like a prisoner in this basement. I'm like a prisoner awaiting questioning for a crime against a foreign government that I'm not responsible for. They're threatening to cover my naked torso in cookie crumbs and release a thousand ants all over my body. I'll be bitten and stung into oblivion until I finally admit to a crime I never committed. The horror. The horror. Love hate loate. Hate love hayove. Excuse me for that. Bruce is now singing about a darkness on the edge of town. I must grab my shaving cream and pretend it's a mic and sing along with the boss. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Steve