The fresh like wit, got bit by Saint Nick.
In which, we lick the wounds, as we sit.
Staying fit, and aligning with what was always right.
And they equate Christ with being that bright.
At night, all along, the storm clouds hover.
Shooting a 3, at the time of the 1 second buzzer.
To create, is to sustain, the fame drips, while wet.
Michael then loses to Satan, after a tall order bet.
To creep, is to ignore, what was always good and true.
Reminding that God all along, is what feeds us with food.
Reminiscing on thoughts, we drink the Sirian Brew.
Confused about that Isis like Being, being actually blue.
The flu, he catches, the crown then slips through.
Ignoring scripture is like being a fool.
In which, I raise the stakes, after using a tool.
A Red Kingú debate, after it flew.
The Pa Taal, they ignore, words were then found.
The Archangel Samael continues to be proud.
Mike, on the other hand, sits and buys stock.
Satan then reminding him, that Hell is actually hot.
On top, the Seraph hover, Satan the Cheif of Cherubs.
Ishtar then sells stores, like 7-11.
In Heaven, we debate, the heat rises slowly.
A chain so deep, and homie wasn't lonely.
Only to be, what He, was all along.
Not God or Satan, but Michael that eats the hog.
Spiritually dead, Christmas then cancelled.
Kinda like what happened to Hansel and Gretal.
Abused as a Saint, Satan in the clear.
A whip that aligns, at the same time being near.
For fear, they kneel, the Satans knew all along.
Smoking Michael's Blood through a tall glass like bong.