Every night as you eat a meal, I solemnly sign a devils deal. The agreement simply reads as such, It's suicide I'll have for lunch. And breakfast, dinner, every day. All sustenance I've signed away. I only hope the pain will dull, the consequence, I shall not mull. For the lessening of life long strife, I'll trade the threat of ended life. I know my sorrow will slowly pale, for every breath of death, inhaled. And if it's bourbon I choose for dinner, I'm told that peace can find this sinner