When you make a pact with Satan, it doesn't come with a protection plan like at the electronics store. It's all like as-is, at the used car lot, and if the shit breaks down and throws a rod before you leave the lot, then you are screwed, man. And Satan's sitting on the recliner sucking down your soul, like your old man with the last cold brewski out of the fridge.
Time has taken its toll on youThe lines that crack your face
Famine, your body it has torn throughWithered in every place
Flatulence, that you have to endureFor what you have put others through
© 2011 Thomas Pluck