Certainly your devil is upside-down,
For his forces control the reality
Bearing down, while the light descends
Upon the heart from up above
Like the whirlpool so completely in rage.
This time the sweat of killing has died,
Living with death has been a chore,
Then you mutter frank phrases
In the fashion random,
So that millions of men are offered.
Your weight is taken to be the fill of the century,
These devils are chained once again,
And so you consume the vegetables
In so slight a fabricated way
That the heels of your feet click tonight.
This demon has been forced from his home,
And your pink donkey is embarrassed
By the amount of prosody,
And it is depressed by your countenance,
And it leaves you waiting for God.