The Girl Who Played With His Desire

A long-forgotten but not-yet deleted post from two years ago:

Reading The Girl Who Played With Fire right now.  I'm not yet halfway through the book, but here's what happened on one of those staring-into-space moments between chapters:

There once was a Girl,
Who played with fire,
And there once was a Boy,
Who did all He could,
To suppress His heart's desire:
The Girl Who Played With Fire

But one day, He could take it longer,
He confessed to Her, and She said,
Oh, You're such a god awful liar,
You deserve to be  spanked,
While roasting on a spit, above your own funeral pyre,
While the townsfolk vent upon you their ire,

And may your soul ascend ever so higher and higher,
Higher than the astronauts, and the cosmonauts before them,
The juggernauts of industry and space and time,
The haves and the have-nots,
The wipsy forgotten forget-me-nots,
The He-loves-me-He-loves-me-nots.

And how does it all end? He asked.
What does it matter? Said She.
You'll be Above,  I down below,
Waiting for Your rain to descend,
And leave my soul cleansed.

And That is how it must end.

Heavy thoughts. Maybe it's the flu I'm battling pulling my imagination strings.
Here's a ditty that will help take my mind off things weightier issues (like my weight :) ):