Evil is as Evil does—the night grows cold, grows close about you.
Evil is as you may do—a shadow hides your screams and laughs.
Your laugh? Its laughter? All the same—and not quite black, but mostly grey.
Evil is as Evil was—and for all the world knows will be again.
Evil is as Evil does—the pitter-pat of ghostly feet, the indecision at an intersection.
In the road? In life? In neither—both beneath the shade.
Evil sings a song of Self—a haunting, lilting almost-tune.
Evil is the song you sing—a lullaby beneath the moon.
A full moon? Crescent? Cloudy sky? Above the stars—you wonder why—it dances.
Evil is as Evil does—the sun will rise and set and rise.
Evil mocks the clocks a-ticking—we know no bounds, do you?
Do you? Does It? Does Evil care? You know it doesn’t—doesn’t care.
Evil plays among the lush—watering the flowers grown by Good.
Well, not by Good—maybe by you.
By whom? By whom? They withered—all, despite the rain.
Evil was as you shall be—have been, renounced, and returned to.
Evil is as Evil does—but not what you should do… should you?
Should you? Even now the stars peak out—should you before they blacken, burn?
Evil is as Evil does—the night grows cold, grows close about me.
Evil is as I may do—a shadow hides my screams and laughs.
My laugh? Its laughter? For who am I—as Evil skips across the sky—but you? But us? But me? But It!
Image Source: Demon by Fernando Rodriguez