In a house without windows,
Just the door unassuming to
Pass by at will, and four walls
Within those perhaps he waits
Restless for tragedy to unfold.
He has a boring day job and
Weekend nights of laundry
For his twin overpants,
Pair of spandex suits obsolete,
And two tattered crimson capes. No villains left to slay,
He loiters purposeless,
Watching cable news all night,
Slouching on his couch,
Nursing a paunch,
He decays longing
For yesterdays on earth,
Of soaring highs, mayhem
Unleashed and prayers
For a mighty messiah he craves.