It's obvious that "Oh how I want to be in that number..."
meant something to you when you first heard "When the Saints Go Marching In"
by the way you walk around this Earth.

How you are owed something.
How you are something.

You have these followers.
These former good, helpless people
who you ran to in times of need, who ran to you too.
You've eaten from each other's hands,
ingested words and answers,
only they have digested the feces you've fed them.
To them you hear no evil, you see no evil, you speak...no...

You think you have an army.
That they'll know no other than you.
That they'll turn themselves into kamikaze pilots
of their own will and fly their planes into me.

How great you are, like you're a chosen one,
claiming you're an angel sent to help others,
but lest you forget,
you didn't even believe in the Big Man Upstairs.

You're the most fucked up angel I've ever met.

You may think you can walk hand in hand with the devil,
strike deals to coexist and con against any higher force.

Well guess what...
when my feet hit the floor in the morning,
even the devil himself thinks,
"Oh shit, she's awake!"

01/21/2010

Author's Note: and don't you ever forget it...

Posted on 01/21/2010
Copyright © 2024 Nanette Bellman