st patrick

I met this woman
a wiccan witch
she saw a beautiful angel
standing behind me
stretching his wings

It’s true
I’m telling you

The witch had a stone
heavy and black
she gave it to me
to soak up my negativity
I carried it around all day
but it got too hot in my pocket
and I had to get rid of it
what could I do?
I mean fuck it
I couldn’t just chuck it
I chose my moment
buried it under a tree
on the edge of a cemetery
it felt right to me
putting it in the ground
to cleanse it
I’ll never forget it

These are the end times
the bad, sad times
I mean – read the signs
it’s all been foretold
the war between young and old
good and evil
Saint Michael the Archangel
The Seventh Trumpet
The False Prophet
The Red Dragon
The Whore of Babylon
I could go on

Satan’s to blame
everything was good
with God
till Satan
grew sick of waiting
said he would not bow
could not
not anyhow
but that’s just pride I guess
what’s a few angels more or less
God cast them out into the wilderness

There’s so much in this world we don’t understand
I mean, why d’you think there are no snakes in Ireland?


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