My moma always told me the Devil would come.
"She'll be as sweet to you as a ripe plum."

My momma always told me the Devil would call.
"She'll always be the one you least expect of all."

Momma always told me she wore the wool of a sheep.
But she never did tell me how long she would creep.

I always figured I'd be smart enough to tell,
where the Devil would hide and where the Devil would dwell.

I never expected the Devil to be a weed.
Waiting in the shadows until we formed a deed.

For a decade I walked by her side, as loyal as a dog.
Bound to her by faith that she would clear the fog.

She never did treat me well.
But I was too intoxicated to tell.

I never would growl, I never would bite.
When she kicked me I didn't put up a fight.

Then, eventually, she tired of me.
She discarded me without much of a plea.

Now I lay here, head heavy with grief.
Wondering how I could have been loyal to such a thief.

The Devil, she is a dragon amongst sheep.
I see her every night as I toss in my sleep.

Haunting me every moment with the lies of our past.
I cry out, "please let this be our last!"

The Devil throws you a cold shoulder, while whispering in your ears.
Of everything that she had ever said during those long years.

"Let me rest," I cry. "Let me have peace!"
But all my memories allow me are the softness of her fleece.

One day I will pick up a sword and lop off her head.
To prove that even the Devil could be bled.

But until then, I tolerate the whispering dark.
The shadow of the Devil, the shadow of a Narc.