Neath the neon blazed city, lay a boy
Down the decrepit slinks of an alley.
His mouth, not yet aged of worldly joys
Was engulfed in sewage water, yet breathed.
You would hear the crowds whisper of a name:
“The Devil’s Mouth.” Isn’t it strange?
It’s said that from his lips came God’s claim, as
The gift of morals, for fame, is exchanged.
All the rich old rats scuttled greedily
With their grimy fingers laced with gold;
Skeletal men asking this young boy for life’s glories,
Before their souls end up dead and cold.
Only eight years old, his eyes looked above:
This Devil hums, “I simply wanted love.”