The rays of the heavens shine through the glass stained windows
The pillars in the room casting oblong shadows
The smell of a feast fills the air
As he sits alone, with no one to share
Alone at the table, alone under his blanket
And now he sits alone once more, at his own banquet
Angels serve him in a ghostly form
He sees his reflection in the golden plates, tired and withdrawn
The food he consumes goes down his throat and into his gut
As he puts out another cigarette butt
A smile crosses his lips, if only people knew he smoked
He laughs so much he almost choked
He drinks the wine from his many goblets
The red wine leaves marks upon his lips
As he observes the pictures on the marble walls
And sits and stares outside his window as nightfalls
And then he gets up, and goes to bed
To rest his aching head
For tomorrow, is another day in heaven
He smiles to himself, ‘Thank God, I made only seven'
