Devil’s left the stage,
Giving way to human touch.
The audience throws flowers.
And the halos, like by child’s hand drawn
Shiver in the corner,
Looking for value and honour,
Finding none.
It doesn’t take much to become a saint these days.
And yet, nobody’s willing to try.
Halos remain headless, lost in the darkness.
In the hall of what Eden once was,
The Seven masters rule;
Men are quick to obey.
Devil flees the hall, now useless.
God is dead.
Only humanity applauds.
