Denial

[to the tune of "Tomorrow", from Annie]

[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...

[ANGEL slouches deeper into the chair and assumes his favorite opaque expression. Which is subtly different from his everyday blank expression. Honest. ]