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


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