The Devil rolls some teeth like dice,
Says your bones are for the gamble —
Wants to know your wager price,
And if the payout you can handle:
He’ll use your ribs for a picket gate,
Ligaments to string a violin’s regret,
Skin to stretch the truth from here to fate,
A fool’s errand to play the Devil’s bet.
The sulfur becomes your betting pyre.
Don’t enter The Lord of the Flies Club
And place a wager at a table afire;
The odds are rigged for Be’elzebub!
Don’t become obscene bone pottery.
You get better odds playing the lottery.
Qbit offered the first half of a fiendish sonnet in response to Jilly’s Casting Bricks July challenge, and bid us to go dark and vibrant (cue the maniacal background laughter and howling dogs). So, here is my response. Have mercy!
Oh yeah, if you’re wondering about that long, sustained bass note you’re hearing… it’s a deep, blue C. 🙂