Everyman before he dies,  
  Shall see his own devil, it is said. 
  Who knows about that,  
  For I have not been dead. 

  All I know is that I live with my devils. 
  They walk with me and talk with me  
  And they hold my hand. 
  They sing to me, both haunting and tormenting; 
  And I let them push me as far as they can. 

  My devils lovingly provide what  
  Little comfort there is to be had 
  When they shake me, and take me,  
  And make love to me. 
  For a devil’s honest kiss, is  
  So much better than lover’s lying one. 

  Everyman may see his own devil  
  Before he dies.  
  But I am constantly graced by mine  
  On each and everyday. 
  And within the dark of each and every night. 
  
  I am forever blessed by the smallest  
  Of their attentions; 
  However unpleasant it may be, they 
  Shower me with devilish gifts. 
 
 

  And you?  It would take so little from you  
  To cause me to cry in delight. 
  It would take so little from you to  
  Turn me away   
  From devil’s play. 
  But, alas, the devils that take me  
  Are so much kinder than thee; 
  For I know that 
  They have never, never, never...  
  They have never lied to me.