Somewhere down in the depths of everyone, there is a spinning plate,
The Devil holds his stick parallel to yours and watches as you sweat,
You rip the sticky bottom of the bottle off of the glue and stick your bucket out to catch the fall,
The Devil plants his loafers and casually crosses one leg over the other,
Sometimes you even change the channel and pray that the entertainment value fills your cup,
The Devil licks the sides of your ice cream cone and draws faces in your food,
You drop your *** into the bean bag cloud and strum the buttons on your controller,
The Devil places the headset on his burning head and boils your water as you sit in the corner of the room, ignoring the kitchen,
Someone passes by with a similar stride and you turn a single glance into the Vietnam War,
The Devil sinks into the sofa and picks the fuzzies off of his jammies.