23 Dec 2018
He wears the suit of a bachelor
To hide the royal robes.
His crown is one of thorns;
His sceptre a rusted sword.
His halo is a cloud of back
And his wings a broken white
His eyes are suns of gold and myrrh
Past the smokes of frankincence.
Look into them: you'll see
He's unwilling to beguile.
His is the sin of eagerness
That blooms with softest wiles.
Crowley hasn't changed, come Hell or high water.
Hasn't told anyone what he's been through.
Hasn't told his tale...