Oh, you, most remarkable of angels
Driven from the divine crush of the skies -
You were the first exile.
The billions have followed,
Either into new lands or immediate graves
You heal our discontents
And make us strong through
Hate and anger of our masters
And the weariness of the days
The cancer victims, young beauties with ulcers
Alcoholics who won't be content with their O.K. jobs
Would be happy to give themselves up to the paradise
You maintain below.
Through your agent, Death,
You give us hope and
The curiosity to see tomorrow;
The guilty have their calm photographs
Printed in the newspaper. It is our joy
To see them. Satan,
Whose hands-on the perishable -
Guides drunken feet to cars
Encourages tired whores
Broke drug addicts to score again
Violent alcoholics to hit away
Sends those who want love,
Terrible lovers -
Take pity on our pain?
We are exiles, too!
Satan, a prayer to you because we cannot reach anyone else.
Only we are left to remember your unfair loss.
This hell we do not accept silently.
Help us take more apples from the tree -
Let nothing remain unseen!
When you shoot out
To flower again
Remember us not as brute but as
Ones who accept the torture
Again and again.

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