She wrote pristine verses on the ceiling of my soul Till the British Museum said, “slow down”. She sang Angelique songs till the devil took tongs and pulled the fire out It’s hard to bear Someone so stunning Makes you tired You realise your whole life’s misfired Then the seamstress touched me and my stitches fell away And the choir was singing though I could not hear a word, they said “You’re falling up to heaven But you’re the wrong way down” Pandemonium in the palace Desperation on the throne To tell the first that first is last You see, she’s finally gone home She wrote sixteen verses that my memory slipped upon Though my clutching fingers held some pieces and the song