Drinking With the Devil

In a dreary cold township with life all but gone, The raped rain-slick streets drag on and drag on, Wet newspaper pages flap into the road, All the power lines heave from a huge overload. The Devil holds court in the bars and saloons And he doesn’t much care for he has the best tunes, Maggots in garbage spill over the floors, “Do Not Disturb” signs nailed to everyone’s doors. In the gin-joints and parlours the cathouse queens drink, For they’ll never be lashed to an old kitchen sink, They’ll never be barefoot unless it’s through choice, As their passions decay so their needs lose their voice. The Devil gets high on a cocktail of blood Laced with fine Irish whiskey and sulphur and mud, And his eyes fill with brimstone, of fire they weep, For the Devil won’t tire and the Devil won’t sleep. If I still have a reason for staying alive It’s because I don’t work from nine until five, I choose what to do and I choose where to go, I drink round the clock and I run the whole show. The Devil sits with me and that’s where I’ll be, Alcohol poisoned in his company, Nothing much moves him, he don’t say a lot, But as friends tend to go, he’s all that I’ve got.