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Reptar, King Of The Ozone

The Devil Wears Prada - Reptar, King Of The Ozone

You found me trembling at the altar,
with my grace slipping through my hands,
a quiet choir breaking softly
where my faith refused to stand.
My halo dimmed like dying sunlight,
like a psalm that lost its flame,
and you touched me with a hunger
that the heavens couldn’t name.

You watched my wings unravel slowly,
feathers falling at your feet,
and you said my ruin sounded
like a prayer you’d never meet.

You said, “Kneel, angel—
let me rewrite your scripture’s rhyme.”
Your shadow wrapped around my heartbeat
pulling heaven out of time.

I’m your little miss fallen,
your forbidden liturgy.
You turned my sins to symphony,
made holy from your touch on me.
Oh, Reaper, speak my rosary—
each syllable a prophecy.
I fall and you make destiny
out of what’s left inside of me.
Little miss fallen… your masterpiece.

You traced the fractures in my halo
like a priest anoints a grave,
turning all my shattered hallelujahs
into something you could save.
Your breath became my choir,
your hands my scripture line by line,
and every tremor in my body
felt like gospel redesigned.

You called my scars devotion,
said my trembling was divine,
and I whispered you my secrets
like commandments redesigned.

You said, “Pray, angel—
let me hear the ache you’re hiding.”
And every whispered, breaking truth
felt like salvation slowly rising.

I’m your little miss fallen,
your forbidden liturgy.
You turned my sins to symphony,
made holy from your touch on me.
Oh, Reaper, speak my rosary—
each syllable a prophecy.
I fall and you make destiny
from every ruined part of me.
Little miss fallen… your masterpiece.

Baptize me in your darkness,
let your shadow bless my bones.
Teach me how a fallen angel
learns to worship what she owns.
Your heartbeat is my chapel,
your voice my sacred creed,
your hands the revelation
that undoes what angels bleed.

You made my ruin radiant,
you crowned my sins in gold,
turned every shaken breath I took
into scripture to behold.

“Be still,” you breathed—
and the heavens lost their guard.
“Be mine,” you swore—
and even light forgot its God.
“Fear not,” you said—
“I anoint you in the shadow.”
And I rose reborn from darkness,
like a psalm the sun can’t swallow.”

I’m your little miss fallen,
your sacred blasphemy.
You rewrote my eternity,
turned damnation into ecstasy.
Oh Reaper, chant my rosary—
your voice rewrites my destiny.
I fall, you carve the rest of me
into holy, haunted poetry…
Little miss fallen—
your masterpiece.

And in the quiet, you whispered,
“I didn’t come to end you…
I came to finish you.”
And every star bowed down
as my soul said amen.

Little miss fallen…
let the sermon begin.

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