Well now, don't you look pretty.
Sitting up there,
With your nose in the air,
but with a pinch of pity.
Could it be that maybe I don't care?
Or should you cross the wires...
If not for the fires,
that burn so bright with piece of misery.
I can't explain, but maybe you?
For the deals we make,
our souls we break,
We cannot get back.
Trust him he's tried,
but Satan don't lie.