A hymn to lucifer

Jesus saves, more and more every day.
But the devil owns the bank.

Jesus saves, so to him we pray,
but to the devil we give thanks.

All our lives are sheer hypocrisy
Power comes not from Democracy.
It grows out from an oil storage tank.

Faustus betrayed, for a few days,
some formula on a page,
and then just for this,
a chance for bliss.

Is it so strange? There is no universal love.
There is no heavan, that smiles from stars above.
Don't you see it, where they drill the wells?
We can make this earth, into a hell.

And a century forth men will die at your command,
while we are still stuck, in desert sands.
A gleaming generation, once again sold,
for an empty promise, of empty gold.

It's nothing like to rule over this,
all the world a flaming Dis.
Bodies building up like bricks,
a river of blood just like the Styx.

Only rarely since paradise was lost to man,
has such an unholy writ began.
A coming war forevermore,
to engulf all the wars that came before.
Each side will even the score,
because that is what makes this war.
Consuming the weak, the wretched and the poor.
I lift my lamp, by damantion's door.

Jesus saves,
more and more every day.
But the devil owns the banks.

Jesus saves,
so to him we pray,
But to the devil we give thanks.

All our words are sheer hypocrisy,
power comes not from Democracy.
It grows beneath the treads of moving tanks.

Little by little,
so I say,
we will send their prayers,
the other way.
And when they are decrepit,
and gone a stray,
the will soon learn,
that there's hell to pay.
And perhaps then they'll recollect,

That the devil calls collect.