Tomorrow, based on Annie

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by Betsy Hanes Perry

[Angel slouches into his office, slumps into a chair,
digs a hand into one dramatic coat pocket, pulls out a
tube of
Astroglide, looks at it with horror and revulsion, and
throws it across the room.]

[Then he starts singing. Fortunately, the Gay Green
Guy has recently whisked him off to an excellent
postmortal
surgeon, who performed a successful vocal chord
transplant. The donor was an undead six-year-old, but,
hey, it's still an
improvement.]

ANGEL: When life becomes bleak,
Denial
Can obscure the darkness
And the icky
In my soul.
If it's been a bad week,
Denial
Tidies up the gloom and
all the trauma --
Makes me whole!
When the thinking gets rough,
And stuff
Is dismal,
I just crease up my brow
(Like now)
And sing....

Ah, there's nothing quite like
Denial!
I can cuddle safely
In Denial
Till the End...
Denial!
Denial!
I need you, Denial!
My faithful (and only) friend...

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