Page 120 of Hell Hath No Fury

I lean in close, but not so close that the microphone doesn’t pick up my words as I say, “No, really. Do you want a chair?”

She makes a show of rolling her eyes, and then she waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t take this as a sittin’ kinda encore.”

Grinning at her, I nod. “You know, I think you may be onto somethin’.”

Her expression turns rather prim, and my smile broadens as I turn back to the crowd. Connor, my lead guitarist, lays out a lick, the residual whine igniting silent electricity throughout the crowd.

“How about we close this fucker with a statement?”

Connor and the rest of my band don’t wait; they let the notes fly just as the crowd screams their acquiescence on whatever new shit I have coming. Because they already fucking know.

“Did someone say politically charged rage anthem?”

Issa gives me a sheepish smile, shaking her head slowly as I wink at her, then turn to face my mic.

Line ‘em up, ship ‘em out

Don’t even bother askin’ about

The fallout between human decency

Empathy, as we continuously crush

The backbone of humanity.

And for what?

Babies cryin’, homeless and starvin’

Yanked from their mama’s and left dyin’

Veterans and the elderly abandoned,

Education system ransacked and vacated.

Backs turned, the ignorant bliss

Of living up high in that glass house

Sitting pretty on a throne of thorns

Sneering from shadows and darkness

The only way to hide that head of horns

From the eyes of reality so blinded

We feel resistance is futile

The path of justice, now a dead-end

All while we search for the beautiful

The light, the tiny bits of joyful,

Our last-ditch effort to outsmart them

The enemy that would see us doomed.

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