Satan's gone fishin', but few has he caught;
None in the basket that's newly Blood bought.
He's brought a fine reel, attached to a pole,
And tested the line, he's ready for soul!
The hook has been baited, the line free and clear,
He looks at the water and back at his gear.
Many 'lures' of temptation and lust in their place,
'I know I'll catch somethin'!', puts a smile on his face.
He settles back to watch and to wait,
But there's not a nibble, nothin's taking the bait.
He reels in the line, and checks it all out,
And casts it once more and then with a shout.
Feels a tug on the line and then it drops deep,
'This one's a fighter, this one I'll keep!'
Although it's a struggle, the line then goes slack,
The battle is over, the soul is reeled back!
Satan stops suddenly, with a look of surprise,
As he dips in his net to lift out his prize.
For there, snagged tightly, at the end of his line,
Two words in bright gold, it's a NO FISHING sign!