In the shammy counting house of parole
Lucifer smiles wringing the honeycomb
Drains the souls in dripping nonchalance
Of promises forsaken in the greed of want
The horde of sins scurries as ants hungry
From his drenching scrutiny of shelves
Litmus fingers cloy the stuffing pushing
Back any drifting excess of discontent
Marked down in the pallets murmurs
Are second thoughts without redemption
