The devil went down to Louisiana
looking for a place to get a meal,
surrounded by beggars as he often is
all imploring him to make a deal.
He rubbed his knee and lamented his fate
“I hate my job but it makes good money,

dressing wounds that will never heal.”

He picked one out, “God’s favorite I guess,
we’re at the crossroad, state your appeal.”
“I’ve searched for money, God, and sex,”
Man said, “something, anything, to make me feel.
But still I stand here, empty, numb,
spinning round and round that dharma wheel.
Give me something to believe in, something true,
something eternal that I know is real. I’m sick of

hiding wounds that will never heal.”

The devil pulled out his contracts, checked his commission,
said “Prick your finger, sign here in blood, your fate is sealed.”
Man stumbled away in pain, leaving a trail of blood he couldn’t conceal
as his pricked finger dripped dripped dripped blood forever.
The devil walked on limping, still hungry, didn’t get a meal.
He makes good money but can never find the time,

too busy making wounds that will never heal.