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
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