With de Vermis you relive your past,
And Alyssa's got next turn's forecast,
But both, you'll allow,
Drop a deuce on your 'now.'
Let the moon clear the crap you've amassed!
The debt on that Pact that you made
Has come due, and it needs to be paid.
You’ll dry up like a prune—
But wait there’s the moon!
Kneel, sinner, and pray for its aid.
Twice now damnation you’ve dared,
And twice has your black soul been spared.
But now you and Dave
Are ripe for the grave.
For three pardons no deck is prepared.