Baptized in the Lethe

A stable-song for holy ghosts and the opiate faithful

Baptized in the Lethe
A stable-song for holy ghosts and the opiate faithful

The life that’s to come must surely be more,
I said as I peeked beyond Donkey’s door.

I’ll be issued my harp and cute little wings,
And I’ll sing and I’ll sing, and I’ll sing sing sing sing.
The clouds will be fluffy, the light will be cozy,
The blood of the martyrs not red, rather rosy.
Around God’s throne I’ll float as a ghost
As nirvana envelopes the heavenly host.
No more green bays, no frail deeds bright,
But all be subsumed in diaphanous light.
If I bump into Adam, we’ll have not a thought
The one for the other, our mandates forgot.
No holes in our hands, no émbodied Jesus,
Only nubinous softness too soft to seize us.

Our bliss so forgetful, no memory lingers,
The harp drops forever from my unfeeling fingers.

The life that’s to come must surely be more,
I said as I peeked beyond Puzzle’s door.