Satan bargains, loses again . . .
Befriended before knowing, made no difference.
Promised help finally came, under authority.
Off the 'rez then, in bondage against threat.
So long without fear, this was no challenge.
They spat on him, called him babykiller.+
At the airport they had waited, not knowing
he would agree with one to kill another.
No one else was hiring & a hundred twenty died
among living dead who contracted with death.
"A hundred sixty-seven ways to get away with..."
a hundred twenty, now headlong toward destruction,
. . . while spitters sit comfortably, uncaring.
Satan's chosen found fear instead, against faith,
could not kill this one without fear & sought comfort.+
Left him confused and paralyzed, knowing with
third strike he'd never see grandchildren again.