I'm a man in the Devil's Company,
on the board of Directors, money motivating me.
I spend my life collecting pieces of paper,
I’d sell my Gran if only someone would take her.
What we sell is worthless, but you buy anyway,
because we tell you it’ll get you through another day.
My workforce are tools, and I think them fools,
to cope with the workload they drown in booze.
I pay a pittance, how they survive I don’t know,
and don’t care, as I sit, and watch my bank balance grow.
Then at the end of the day, I pray my fat bankroll,
can help take the place of my absent soul.

I'm a man in the Devil's Company,
sitting in a bar with a whore romancing me.
She whispers "Please", a wicked tease,
enchants my eyes with a practiced ease.
The outfit she wears is fashioned for temptation,
each gap and curve a thought-out revelation.
I try to look away, I know her wicked ways,
but I'm vulnerable to these games she plays.
My soul is strong, but flesh is weak,
what she's barely hidin', I wanna go seek.
And as she leads me back to her bed,
I resign my will, and obey hers instead.

I'm a man in the Devil's Company,
it's no surprise, for he's living inside of me.
And you.
It's true.
No way out.
No doubt.
Your demons are yours.
Scapegoats, not the cause.
Time to face your shame.
No-one else to blame.
Time to start your confessions,
or sleep with your transgressions.