The sound of an organ draws you in.
Invisible hands touch you and push you ahead.
By and by your eyes adjust to the darkness.
A million prayers and a billion curses float through the air
and tumble to the ground turning into red smoke.
This cathedral is terribly dilapidated,
the pews are broken, the walls are crumbling.
Some ragged flags, some mouldy saints,
and a large hole in the roof.
At the sanctuary a group of monks
in red bordered frocks
chanting blasphemous psalms.
A magic ritual inspiring
an ecstatic priest in ceremonial attire.
He's facing the altar with arms extended
turning his back to you.
Is he praying?
No, he listens to some mysterious massage.
Viens chez moi, je suis ton destin.
You're intrigued.
You walk up to him, and when you're right behind him
he turns around and you stand petrified.
The priest is a woman.
The face of the limousine driver.
She's half naked.
Lascivious smile, sensuous lips, perfect body.
Sade j'ai compris. Sade je te suis.
Angel or devil?
You're tempted, confused, scared.
She beckons you to come closer.
Her eyes hold you, her words grab you,
her beauty feeds your dreams.
Your fear catches fire and burns to ashes.
You feel lighter, better, saved, being aware,
of course, you're still lost.
You're ready to give in, ready to give up.
You need to touch her.
But you grasp at nothing.
She's gone.