The Corroded Ladle And Rusty Bucket:

Within the vicinity of the Earth
Down those dingy streets of Pergamum,
Where the lost souls of the wicked suffer
And the throne of Satan lurks among.

Stood a bright and fiery cast iron gate
That tickled the gray hanging clouds,
Perched on a very tall and lofty boulder cliff
Above all the screaming voices wearing shrouds.

This is Sir Lucifer's invisible realm
Where all dark and twisted minds die,
In the badlands where it never rains
And the sunshine is restricted to fly.

Where the thief in the night treads light
And the streetlights are adorned with skeleton heads,
Where scorched pathways of hot flaming rocks
Torch those hopeless souls of the living dead.

There's festered flowing rivers of rubbing alcohol
And burning ashes that plummet the Earth,
There's bubbling skin sores that seep blood red
From all the razor blades stitched in dirt.

All the yelling and continuous crying
From all those dying spirits burning alive,
Draws the attention of the most precious ears
Who reaps blue teardrops for them to survive.

All those dimly echoes of forgotten voices
That are parched and dying of thirst,
From being burned alive in a pit of fire
Because their unsaved soul has been cursed.

So when the moon reached the witching hour
While Sir Lucifer was swearing in his bed,
All those parched tongues of the decreasing
Were so begging and pleading to be feed.

A faint illumination came from above
As a tiny reflection of rare passing light,
Lit up the cliffside like the crack of dawn
And mixed some daylight in with the night.

A black figure arose from those shadows
And walked down that trail of paved tears,
With a corroded ladle and rusty bucket
To quench that thirsting of all her peers.

Those charcoaled bodies of the dying wicked
With their sobering tongues from water,
Stuck out their burnt and ember fingers
To take a cool tall drink of that backwater.

They savored every precious wet morsel
Until the whole water supply was gone,
That rust covered water bucket from Hell
That the wife of the Devil had passed on.

The next morning at the crack of dawn
When the beautiful sun was coming down,
Another round of those screams rang out
From the dirty little Devil's playground.

Lighting bolts and echoes of thunder
Shot through the downpouring sunny skies,
As they unzipped those cotton silver linings
Reviving all those unexpected dried eyes.

From atop the clock tower in the graveyard
As it did strike the prime witching hour,
Sir Lucifer the living devil of this land
Is beating his disobedient wife in these hellish showers.

From the mouth of the Devil's wife she spoke hastily
"Sir Lucifer I did nothing to deserve such a clobber",
While looking at him and asking him to stop
"No! My Queen"... for people in Hell don't deserve ice water.