I once saw an angel, his wings cloaked behind him,
There was mud on his feathers and blood in his smile.
Said he's looking for God, but no one can find Him,
He must have stepped out for a while.
* * *
Scheherazade is slumped over the bottle,
She's tired of looking for stories inside.
Her room is too pretty, it smells like a brothel,
She's tired of thinking up new pretty lies.
She hates that invention's become her salvation,
That she's gotten so expert at playing pretend,
And sometimes, she wonders how all this got started,
More often, she wonders how all this will end.
Oh, the Little Prince, he's all grown up now,
He's taken the throne as a good son must do.
And he's learned to live with the weight of the crown
But he still orders roses sent up to his room.
Sometimes, at night, when he looks out the window,
He squints at the stars, wonders if he still can
Make out where he'd lived once, make out who he'd been once,
Recall when the ending began.
And Alice is coiled on the floor like a flower
Pulled up too soon and wilted too fast.
She's been out chasing the rabbit for hours
And she's finally run out of cash.
Her apron is soiled, she's misplaced her ribbon,
There's dirt on her hands and there's dust on her feet.
She thinks of her sister, alone in the meadow
And she wants to wake up, but she can't fall asleep.
* * *
They've just put the word out, they've opened up Heaven,
If you know where to find it, admission is yours
For Hell is too crowded, they're taking no more there,
And the waiting room's filled to the doors.
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