An angel lay on sandy dunes
And softly sang a mournful tune
Her wings were broken, black and limp,
Bloodstains marred her throat and lips
Her eyes were dead, but her heart still beat
Her aura shone with bitter defeat
Beside her sat a small man in red
He was the Devil, and he wanted her dead.
He’d pulled all the stops, his charm and his guile,
And now he’d succeeded, that’s why he smiled
“My dear Helena,” he said, as he rustled his shirt.
“My dear Helena, please join me. I swear it won’t hurt.
We could rule Hell together. Why, with you by my side,
Everything would be swell. All that’s left to do is die.”
It was an offer that she’d heard before
It was an offer that she completely abhorred
She’d sworn to never let that monster in
She’d sworn to never let the Devil win
But now the hazy mists were thickening
And the tired angel’s death was quickening
She didn’t have the strength to sit
She couldn’t even speak a bit
Her mournful tunes were echoes, now,
A gasp was all her voice allowed
But still she turned to where the Devil sat
Took a deep breath, and, in his face, spat
“Oh, Helena, Helena!” the Devil cried.
“Why must you wound me?! You’re about to die!
Let me save you, Helena. We’d be perfect, see?
Oh, Helena, please, don’t reject me!”
The Devil begged. He pleaded. He cried.
He did all three, but the angel still died.
Her wings evaporated into sandy dust,
Which blew away, in a sudden gust
But the corpse remained, a sign from above
Of the dangers that lurk when the Devil falls in love