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i believe in heaven. i believe in hell. and an old house haunted by a prostitute. the night that nothing at all went well, and hell came to the house of ill repute.

the day, came as we had arranged, but pride before the fall was near. by 10 o'clock, the crowd deranged, was heavy-handed on the beer. which would explain the rowdy yells (most which were louder than my band) "i said the good of this mistake i'll never ever understand."

looking back in complete hindsight, i believe in god and the devil alright. after that i saw the light, cause the devil got that gig that night. yeah.

the first song and the next were strained. my voice became my enemy. my cord, then my guitar was blamed. the sound-man threw the book at me. i touched the strings to my guitar; they snapped and i begun to fear. "there's nothing left that wont go wrong girl. crawl to the door, get out of here."

looking back in complete hind-sight, i believe in god and the devil alright after that i saw the light, cause the devil got that gig that night. yeah.

my mother prayed a lot that night, though she couldn't stand the place we played. between the ladies bible group and her, we should've had the whole place saved. i saw the good in weeks gone by, and wryly now i laugh instead. you do your best to die a graceful death and drag your humbler self to bed. i believe in heaven. i believe in hell...

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Miranda Stone Toronto, Ontario

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