Murcielago

Perched upon the tallest steeple She listened to the small minded people Double rows of canines made them nervous So they threw her out of Sunday service The sheep ruled the shepherd, foolish goats They had no seeds to sow their oats Midnight wings and eyes burnt coal They feared she would claim their soul She saw not them for she had no eyes Sundered through their wicked lies Never they mind what said the book About how not to judge character by look They wanted her gone, wanted her dead They ripped off her horns, crimson wed In the courtyard a noose was strung She baked rare, blistering as she hung Quietly they drained her life's essence Like a mist phantom, her evanescence The hollow hallelujah caught in their throat A figure reformed before they could further gloat A shock of raven feathers now white To match her new grown seraphic flight Planes of her face, sharp of angle There she stood, a twice risen angel