The Way of the Fallen is Hard

These lyrics, for whatever reason, have been rattling in my head all day:

Down in Corpus Christi
Always around midnight
You'll find the devil limping along 'cause his shoes are too tight.

His hair's up in pig tails
His whiskers are in braids
He's talking 'bout the promises he said God forgot He made.

The way of the fallen is hard.

-Ray Wylie Hubbard, Brewed in Texas, Vol 2

Truer words were never spoken. Like God, in whose image we're created (or vice versa), we despise no one more than those with whom we're disillusioned, those whom we once put on a pedestal who for whatever reason fall off and no longer seem worthy of the imaginary shrine built to them in our mind's eye. Whether it's a friend who betrayed us or prideful Lucifer, God's Shining Star ... when we're profoundly disappointed, it's easy, isn't it, to succumb to our pain, to demonize our betrayer (and who's more demonized than Lucifer?). But the object of our scorn has a story to tell too, even if he's doomed to tell it sitting by the railroad tracks in Corpus Christi wearing tight shoes.

The way of the fallen is hard.