An angel with a cloven hoof
Played a tune with a mouth harp
That sent me waltzing across the floor
Stumbling about in search of a crutch.
The infantile idealism of youth
Talked in a wobbly, loose-jointed manner.
But I should have known that
Nothing is safe
To him who nothing is sacred.
Behind that toothy smile
Was a mind twisted and crooked as sin.
Drawing me in and almost drowning me
In my foolish naivety.
Yet I am no longer a reprobate.
I forgive myself generously.
But I'm a perpetual dancer
So I listen for another tune,
And while I eavesdrop on God
I purr ever so gently.