Tristan Robert Lange

South of Me

Me and the devil,

That satanic guy and I,

Went to the bathroom

So he could therein cry.

Tried to console him, did I.

I know, you must be asking,

“What the hell—why?”

It’s because he’s blind,

And now afraid to die!

You see, I stole his horn,

Poked the fucker in his eye,

Then took the other cone

And blinded him—didn’t try.

Angry, he let out a howl,

One that I didn’t really buy.

Something about my location—

It wasn’t really even a lie—

That I lived below the abyss;

It wasn’t anything to deny.

“Mr. Mephistopheles, please

It’s true that I cannot fly,

And forever upward to hell

Will be my gaze,” says I;

“And, as awful as that might be,

“You will be forever looking

“Upward to gaze upon little ol’ me.”

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

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