The cobbler saw the Devil in the forest
a field-hand spoke with Him before a killing frost,
The children say He lurks somewhere in the scrub-brush
and beckons to all the good and lost.
They say His hands are short and scything,
and a crown of shells weighs down His crimson head,
They say He lurks around the crossroads,
and stoops low so He may hear the dead.
Some say the Devil is destruction,
but I have seen Him, and I know His ways.
The Devil is nothing but a brick-layer
And damnation is the only road he paves.