Murcielago [Throwback Thursday]

Perched upon the tallest steeple
She listened to the small minded people
Double rows of canines made them nervous
So they threw her out of Sunday service

The sheep ruled the shepherd, foolish goats
They had no seeds to sow their oats
Midnight wings and eyes burnt coal
They feared she would claim their soul

She saw not them for she had no eyes
Sundered through their wicked lies
Never they mind what said the book
About how not to judge character by look

They wanted her gone, wanted her dead
They ripped off her horns, crimson wed
In the courtyard a noose was strung
She baked rare, blistering as she hung

Quietly they drained her life’s essence
Like a mist phantom, her evanescence
The hollow hallelujah caught in their throat
A figure reformed before they could further gloat

A shock of raven feathers now white
To match her new grown seraphic flight
Planes of her face, sharp of angle
There she stood, a twice risen angel

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