Tiny red man sits and listens
On the back of your shoulders,
Craving the movable of boulders.
He grabs your hair and pulls you down,
Into a deep burrow of
Hanging on a few strings of hair
He laughs and howls,
Screeches into the thin air.
You wiggle your skull, the Devil falls,
Gasping for air, towards the pit
You threw him on his ground
Where he stomps,
Just as a little child,