Evil

You thought you’d come here tonight to cause chaos and confusion, and to corrupt a few innocent souls, but no, because Old Nick, Old Harry, Old Scratch, Prince of Darkness, tonight: This is your life! He is the people’s poet And all the people know it They’ve read his published stories In public lavatories In town and country locals He’s Mr. Antisocial His violence does the talking Those boots weren’t made for walking He’s a cold-blooded vulture He won’t respect your culture He’s nothing like your good self He’s come to burn your bookshelf He’ll gobble up your children Destroy what you’ve been building And when you’re left to suffer He’ll vivisect your mother He is the lord and master Of every war, disaster Every disease and famine A piece of cunning planning He was in Vietnam He is the Ku Klux Klan He was the Child Catcher He gave us Margaret Thatcher One day, the devil was in high good humour, for he had created a mirror which made everything good and beautiful reflected in it shrink to almost nothing, and everything bad and ugly stand out more clearly than ever. All the little imps who went to the devil’s school, they ran around with the mirror, until there was nowhere and no-one that had not been distorted in it. The devil was much amused, and the mirror itself grinned wickedly Then the little imps decided to fly up to heaven to make fun of God and his angels. The higher they carried the mirror, the more it grinned, until it was shaking so hard with laughter that it slipped out of their hands and fell to earth, where it broke into millions of pieces And then it caused even more trouble than before, because all the tiny splinters, scarcely the size of a grain of sand, went flying around the world, and whenever a splinter flew into anyone’s eye, it had the same power as the whole mirror, and made people see everything distorted. Sometimes a splinter of glass even entered someone’s heart, which was worst of all, for then that person’s heart was turned to ice And by his royal appointment There’ll be no more enjoyment There will be no more benders No service will be rendered This shop will not be open Until he’s seen you broken You’ve got to give him credit The poor man’s Norman Tebbitt Cruelty without beauty Beyond the call of duty Beyond my understanding I find it so demanding I wish I could forget it And be more apathetic It’s just it bothers me so How anyone could be so evil