satan was looking down
Well Satan was looking down from his angelic face
Measuring the distance of the fall from grace.
Thinking about how long might be his stay.
Thinking about if he was just born that way.
He was doing the crossword puzzle, New York Times.
Making up words to fit the crimes.
Not every Christmas tree hears the greatest story ever told.
What’s the destination of one that isn’t sold?
Some are born to set slaves free.
Others are born to kill the Dead Sea.
Well that’s another pretty fix you’ve got me in.
Who is in charge here? Skin for skin.
What would I do without you?
Where could I go if I didn’t know?
How would it end if I didn’t have a friend?
When can I be what I can not see?
Satan was looking down from his angelic face
Reflecting misery all over the place.
Reflecting the charms on the wrist of the leader.
Reflecting the arms of a six shot repeater.
Some are born to erase shame.
Others are born to assign blame.
Assured me that you could fix it with the boss.
The south side of a tree just can’t grow moss.
What was there before you cared?
Where should I be if not with thee?
How can I pray when I can only say?
When will you erase every trace?