We saw the Devil on Zion Hill and he bared his dirty fangs at us.
We saw him, and his seven heads.
We saw him and his 49 eyes that made us grimace, and our skin crawled.
Each day he would come and take from us.
Each day it was something different.
He wore our possessions like gifts.
Gold crowns graced his heads and danced around his fingers.
Ivory weapons stood firmly at his side and diamonds gleamed in his ears.
His breath caused our tongues to curl from the pungent odour of crude oil.
Battle armour did grace his colorless body.
The Devil was plump. His belly round and his cheeks full, yet he always complained that he was starving.
We saw the Devil on Zion Hill
He called us filthy.
He said our ways are evil, our actions rippled with corruption.
He called our credence with the natural word foolish.
Yet, at night, when the cold wind howled and the only source of light stood the barren moon.
He bows his seven heads, folds his opaque wings and faintly whispers to the village
“Be careful, for one day you might end up like me.”
We saw the Devil on Zion Hill and he had seven heads.