Wings, Stripped Away (Oh, Mr. Crowley)

He hissed alongside the best of them
Malignant to the bone
But behind that rib cage strangely lacking
Lies a heart, not yet stone

Tortured souls, hung up,
It isn't like he cares
He simply strides right past them
Carefully debonair

'Demon,' neighbours call,
'Traitor' from those Above
Oh, this impasse, he's so sick of it
Waiting for push, to shove

The War rages on (hardly his doing)
He drifts, always Between
The Past and the Present can't be erased
A shadow, waiting, unseen

Well, it's here he settles
No true wings, no true feet
Only an acquaintance-that's-more
And his chariot's worn seat.

All is well, excepting those
Who to his guile do not fall
And who try to drag him back
Under total beck and call
It's alright
As long as he
Gets to see another day.