In the mountains of Asia, where temples dot the scenery,
a lone monk sits silently, vying for enlightenment's meaning.
Beneath the trees who each reach for peace from the ground,
but are pulled and lulled to sleep rooted deeply and sound.
The birds who fester, and can't fly too far from the nest.
The weather's impression of nature at its worst and its best.
As he crest's in nirvana, a figure swiftly approaches
an orchard of thought attacked by a thick grip of locusts.
My name is Abaddon, and excuse my intrusion,
you'll soon be glad I've come; don't refuse my "abuses."
I truly feel you could use my tools of coersion -
the key to the universe is your passion, and I've got the solution.
For the price of your soul, I'll just file it away,
you could fly and escape from this boring life you portray.
Let's have a try at this, cause you look like a nihilist.
You could have skill so violent, you won't know what a rival is.
I can give you riches to last three lifetimes, let you live 'em
play out fantasies in rhythm, with quickness and precision.
Women, power, talent and wisdom within grasp,
anything you could fathom, you could realistically have.
That is ridiculous, I have no worldly desires,
your frivelous attempts undoubtedly lead your retire.
I admire your fiery dedication to free thought,
but you see, everything on this earth can be bought.
Even if you sought to speak with God himself,
I could dial the numbers and offer thee help.
The monk knew the shadowy man wouldn't leave him alone,
and for a moment had grown into dreams of a golden throne...
but he began to wonder how to win this battle,
for he was grass to the cattle, his cage had been rattled.
So what'll it be stranger, I've got the papers all ready,
I'll carry the burden for you, no matter how heavy.
After an hour of silence, the monk stifled a smirk,
riled, the devil inquired what he'd come up to unearth.
Cash and purse were forgotten, what he asked was worst in worth.
I'll give you my soul, if I can have yours first.