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.