Literature
The Devil and I
The fiddle is not an instrument I can play,
But I still bet the Devil my soul today.
He appeared before me as I sat at my desk,
A demon with red eyes and a face so grotesque.
He wanted to see who could weave the darker tale,
And said he'd take my soul to Hell if I should fail.
I took his bet with an odd sort of glee,
For there is no one that has a muse darker than me.
Then that old Devil pulled a pen from behind his ear,
Leered at me, laughing as though I had something to fear.
His ink ran red as blood as he wrote,
And I couldn't hide the chuckle that rose up in my throat.
He told of the things he knew best, the depths of his Hell,
Where t