The Angel swoops on wings of sin,
His smile lies reassurance.
We dance to ballads in minor keys,
His feathers drift to cover the truth.


I shut my eyes whilst my Angel led,
Shuffled unwilling to music sour, never sweet.
The chords struck as hammers on glass,
And my blood seeped clear from the rends.


The Angel's wings, of Anansi's own silk,
Sealed me in his words macabre.
Our sonatas play unceasing;
Now I answer only to Lucifer's call.