they sing about the devil
they sing about the devil
the sing about.....
the one
with unholy
combover
sells us a dream
of infinite growth
of infinite rollover
and as our stock
reaches critical levels
the bearded boys
sing about the devil
they sing about the devil
they sing about the devil
the devil the devil the devil the
cutting out the tongues
of the office whistlers
in the dim-lit halls,
we kept the witnesses to a minimum
citing ourselves as the single source of truth,
gravid with anger, but with one too many masters to answer to.
lips
were still wet
with
pre-emptive lemsips
an idea
for the ending
sewn into their
collective
senses.
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