What Happened?

(song for a captured queen)

I.

“Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.  Ye shall know them by their fruits.”  -Christ

He sang,

“Woe to you, teachers and scribes of the law,

I come not to judge, but fill you with awe,

I come to bring life to your sick, your dead,

To light you up, to turn you on--

-- and scare the darkness from your head...”

Therefore come back to me, my broken girl;

Take your madness beyond their grasp.

To gain your soul you must lose a dead world,

Unmask the tyrant of your past.

For the wolves of the old, jealous way

Will gather to exact their cost,

Casting their lots for the raiments you wear

At the foot of your witch’s cross.

II.

“Man was not made for the Sabbath, but the Sabbath was made for man.” -Christ 

“I want to live, I want to love, / But it’s a long hard road out of hell.”

 -Marilyn Manson

Where is your wicked rebel’s dance,

My child of life,

Child of chance?

Where is the vigil of freedom you held,

With your arms outstretched

Aross all you beheld?

Were you young, too young, when you sang that song?

Were you so far astray, so lost and headstrong?

For you laughed at Saint Mary’s twisted love,

Her shameless confessions of emptiness,

But now, as if by decree from above,

You’re wrapped in the gown of her righteousness.

What happened?

Did they rattle your ship 

With their friendly coercion,

Did they sell you their 

Virtuous orthodox version?

Did they look in your heart 

And find the fear there,

And take aim, and then fire 

With terrible care?

You tiny flower,

Fleeting hour,

You who wept for cheated time,

Who spoke of love in magic rhymes.

III.

O where is your furious, questioning fight,

You of adventure, you of twilight?

And where is your shining discovery,

Which unleashed such torrents of mystery?

Be free, be free, O don’t hesitate,

Don’t stand long on the threshold there,

For the stage is set, and the hour is late,

And the devils of Heaven are poised to ensnare;

Poised with pious, creeping shame,

Poised to un-blossom, poised to enchain--

And here you falter, ringed around,

A frightened doe with a thorny crown.

Well, if you go, O if you go,

If you turn at the point of that holy lance,

Don’t hope that any special chance

Will save you from their deadly trance.

You tiny flower,

Fleeting hour,

You who wept for cheated time,

And spoke of love in magic rhymes;

You slender elf,

Unseen, unfelt,

You who crept forth from the pews

To save the soul she swore she knew.