my friend Lucifer, smiled at me and asked me, “Hey master, send my fans’ souls”

And I being me, the bewitcher of crowds, sent to his way hordes upon hordes

Until halfway through I realized with repentance, Oh what have I done?

The devil’s not my friend, not the crowds’ — he is a friend to no one

Repentant, remorseful, I cried and asked for divine intervention

No help came– I’d sold my soul to the devil, as was convention

And thus, horde upon horde and I leading it, no longer bold

Walked into the gates of hell for the devil to behold

“Good crop you’ve brung me, but you’re no master

I tricked you, Crowd Bewitcher, you bastard”

And I said “Power!” and raised my staff

and the crowd whole bellied a laugh

They were saints in hiding

Doing God’s biding

The crowd bewilderer ended up being bewitched,

and from thereon , he’s been rendered transfixed.

The saints so  cool’d

Had the devil fooled

I was set free of the shackles of the contract that had my soul trapped

I was a man free, a man anew, a man whole, in God’s mercy bewrapped

And I said  “Power!”

Everyone said “Power!”

This sinnerman goan turned to God and asked for help and the help came. It’s never too late to ask for help. Always, always, always, ask for help when you need. There are people waiting to help you. There’s God and his apostles, and his saints scattered on earth, and good people, Good Samaritans, in general, descendants of the Magi, the people of selflessness and wholeheartedness. Love, love, love, love.

 

 

 

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