All the demons are here to taste your fear.

The tool of torment is a fa'rite game.

They'll wrap you in jewels or kiss you with fame.

You'll be a lovely pet that they keep near.

So you'll give and give 'til your life feels sheer.

It will steal your words; you'll know not your name.

And they’ll take and take then leave your life lame.

Then it will move on and shed not a tear.

They’re not God; merely garish ghost that boast.

Let us give them not what they feed on most.

Thus, mirror their minds; reflect their false face.

They live in lies and cannot taste the truth.

‘Tis grueling work, so keep a steady pace.

Never lower yourself or be uncouth.