Who is this Monster, this, this knave
The one who calls himself Satan
What is his purpose, his calling
What confusion must he straighten
Why does he accompany us
Where will he appear to us next
How does he expose his image
What is his next vex, his next hex
Sastan is either reality
Or merely some cowards belief
But look at the woes and the ails
Surely he is at least a thief
Is he ruler of the world
Might he be the prince of darkness
Lucifer, beezelebub, death
It is all there in his likeness
The power in his absent heart
The strength in his evil visage
Horror and pandemonium
Spelled out clearly in his image
He glories within your torment
He laughs at your pain and dismay
His greatest gift is your sadness
his greatest achievement your stray
He beckons to you with pleasure
He lures you in with the world
His promises are all empty
We know when his plan is unfurled
Evil incarnate, pure evil
Be he fact or just a pretense
Better safe than sadly sorry
Decide now, get off the fence