The den of iniquity, more like a rec room for the devil,
Where he entices you to come play with his beautiful toys,
Cultivating your lusts for delicious carb loading foods and
Free sex for fools, without truth or consequences or so he says.
Live for today, for tomorrow you may die; he's counting on it,
Counting the days, marking them off his daytimer.
Your appetite lures you in, but your pride forces you to stay,
Determining to change your own misfortune, that you now greatly miss.
So much to see, all pretty and new, shiny packages; beckoning.
But eventually, you realize...the pretty toy is YOU, changing hands
Like party favors, fulfilling more of HIS lust than yours; gripped
By darkness, unable to wiggle free; unable to change or repent.
You've grown so dependent on the endorphin buzzes; you live off of them.
Freedom is only but a call away, a call most will never choose to make.