The Devil
Call him the son of the devil
To wear the mask of a rebel
A star to rise above the rest
One day to arise as the best
The man of sin and his level
Call him the son of the devil
A fallen angel clips its wings
For a lusting of bitter things
The falling away can't be far
By a sign of the Morningstar
Call him the son of the devil
To dig a grave with a shovel
On everybody's passing bell
Just be ready to burn in hell
As he arrives they'll tremble
Call him the son of the devil
Copyright © Quintin Reda | Year Posted 2022
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