Ah, Satan sees Natasha
Perched precariously on that roof
Death strokes her plump, pretty cheeks
A line of fire from her temple from her chin
Satan steps in, with long fingers that draw thoughts like strings.

“A Danish custard? Drat such sin, Ada,”
Says Ma, in memories Satan recalls
For our sweetly distressed damsel, swayed by the wind
“Gluttony seals the doom of this age.”
You never agreed, Natasha, and now you Die by your hand.

War—distended nets I draw
Said Satan with a coy smirk
Drawing Nat from the wall with his power talk
Pulling, pushing into dark—and how Death cried
Nay, Natasha, don’t stray from the path
For Heaven waits for all, and understands all pain.

“Pets never even step
From my beautiful halls that fill every desire
You will never want more than I can offer,”
Satan laughs, as the woman grows soft and gaunt.
“Natasha,” weeps Death, “I am but a messenger
But I know of what I speak—happiness is only true
When it comes of other peoples’ deeds, not their greed.”

“Dash sin if I finish sad!”
Natasha cried, and flung herself from the wall
From Satan’s clutches, evermore
Those on earth saw but her broken body
Not the evil she overcame
They, too, will face Satan’s tempting world
And may choose it, so long as choice lives.