She pulls her shade from the window. Wearing nothing but a pillow.
She brings the neighborhood to shame. It must be because she’s possessed again.
Demon, I know your name. (Lust!)
By the power of the saints, you’ve no power over us, demon of lust.
Asmodeus. I command you.
Asmodeus. I beseech you.
Asmodeus. Be gone.
He places an ad on the world wide web to point and click his way to some strange.
To calm the voices in his head, it’s better for him if it’s deranged.
Because of the demon that’s inside him, he doesn’t bother to ask her age.
They bought a membership to a special club.
Where strangers rub up wearing masks.
Flesh on flesh in the darkness. Just who’s touching who, they never ask.
Driven by the evil that’s inside them, their church is a mattress.