I killed a demon with a drumstick
drove it through his eye
I rat-tat-tat the snare all day
and he did march in time
the black six-string, his only friend
upon his crooked back
and every time he's strummed since then
it just seems weak and slack

no one applauds, they turn away
his fury is offense
he doesn't mind offending though
folks have no common sense
the limelight idiotic glory
is all he does crave
but now he rots anonymous
one long, sad tune he plays