None of it makes the slightest sense, so we just follow the rituals and pretend that it does.
Madness string 12180
There is a kind of laughter that sickens the soul. Laughter out of control: when it screams and stamps its feet, and sets the bells jangling in the next town. Laughter in all its ignorance and its cruelty. Laughter with the seed of Satan in it. It tramples upon shrines, the belly-roarer. It roars, it yells, it is delirious: and yet it is as cold as ice. It has no humour. It is naked noise and naked malice.