Soul: (to the deceiver)
Tis' not a whining contest
hiding that tongue of the ******
forgot, couldn't get more honest
Now go and come back in August

Deceiver: (to the soul)
Nowhere are you going with that
******* on you, my devilish cat
eventually will I control the brat
simple is that, not a problem of SAT

Soul:
Good,Good! Do what you want
swaying towards hell is what you want
funny! something even you don't want
you dear, are nothing but filled with haunt

Deceiver:
So now you're too gonna mock
once was I the most valuable stock
all were under the reputation of my sock
then fell down to a crow from a Hawk

Soul: (to the self)
Work, bring to feet the crime
poetry isn't worth a dime
Listen, listen! It's pray time
Eternal's gold better than fake lime