That devil's name is unruly.
His disorder's great, he lacks all self-control.
His place is always discheveled.
He won't wash his face, there is nowhere he goes.
He snarls and hisses so rudely.
And boldly declares that he's not coming out.
Out of that poor man until he,
eats dust and with blind eyes goes stumbling about.

That devil's name must be torture.
She'll fill you in on what you do not know,
those nights you desire her pleasure,
and pay to gain entrance to her lovely show.
She'll satisfy all your cravings.
Then she will leave you to wail and to cry,
all alone coldly reflecting,
the price it has just cost your soul for a ride.