The Crimson Angel

Late night drive, from the lush green mountains of my home,
to the empty and harsh deserts, where the aliens come down.
Angels ride UFOs, and Demons and Deros jamm light vibrations.
When I get to Scottsdale, when I get to Bobbi Jo, it will be clear.
 Little pull off, thermos of coffee, didn’t know it was so cold at night.
The Eye of Mercy is brighter than the moon, than all our time.
It warms me, as the wind is cold, and their is devilish dreams about.
Eye in my eye, to see the light in the dark, in the hold out saints.
 The sun is rising, the bloody birth of the clear, blameless sky.
In the half burning light, the desert is a shadow and a star.
In the honeyed light, it’s all so mysterious, wonderous.
The light of day is so harsh to memories and hope, our angels.
 The coffee gives jitters, and there’s no smokes to steady me.
But I know she’s waiting, The Crimson Angel, the Light of Justice.
Come all this way, the demons getting in the music, even my dreams.
I will join her. I will be holy and pure, a paladin forever restored.

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