Devil Source

The devil is cold in his heavy grave
Quicksand tumbles like salt flakes from below
He howls to the bells of the halls that hear
A moaning song of laughter and pain
It is to the end of the earth I come
To take the greed of the human scum
And treasure it back to me and mine
For our savouring and dance of joy

A welt grows on his dusty spine
The sap of pus and gangrene melts out
A cancer tapping his lifeblood grime
It grows as he shrinks a pustule of hate
Buried in the depths of time
But ready to grow again
ERUPT! when the time is write