I killed them, but they would not die.
Yea! all the day and all the night,
For them I could not rest or sleep,
Nor guard from them nor hide in flight.
Then in my agony I turned,
And made my hands red in their gore.
In vain - for faster than I slew,
They rose more cruel than before.
I killed and killed with slaughter mad,
I killed till all my strength was gone.
And still they rose to torture me,
For Devils only die in fun.
I used to think the Devil hid,
In women's smiles and wine's carouse.
I called him Satan, Balzebub.
But now I call him, dirty louse.