Tryst With Mephistopheles

I stumbled on the summit’s path
Clumsy, clumsy
No paragon am I
I can’t even keep my shoes tied
I’ve been in love with Owen ever since
I heard the strains of Psalm 21
Standing between the choirs
As they sang, «Laudate Dominum, Laudate Dominum»
Damn, I wrote it down, but I left it in the pocket of my other jeans
Scrawled across the foolscap: «I don’t know what your devotion means
I don’t know what your devotion means.»
And up, upon the summit I can see
The one I worshipped as a boy
The Creator, The Great White Noise
The Great White Noise
Charged and charging up the ridge
The chests are empty, the coffers too
They float in the flood, and so will you, I swear, so will you
«Your light is spent! Your light is spent!» I cried
As I drove the iron spike into Owen’s eyes
The sun sped cross the plains like that cinematic moment where
Humanity and nature collide
When you think, «Everything's gonna be all right,»
Just before the hero gets a bullet in his side
Whizzing off the clifftop
Listening for the spatter, thirty floors below
Down come the vultures
I will not be your fuel anymore
Now the author has been silenced, how will they ever decipher me?
I hope they hear these words and are convinced
You never even knew me
I draw a bruise on your brawny shoulder
Scratch my fingers over your tattoos
The author has been removed