My Satan Poem

Satan shows up on tv, every sunday morning
 I would've kissed her once again, but I found her rather boring
 To listen to his messages, is like licking razor blades
 Seems everytime I play my hands, shit's coming up in spades
 My clothing's nothing but miss-matched,
 As you can see, I broke my arm
 The fucker swore to take care of me, but he only brought me harm
 The blueberries on my toast, are red, and stale, and rotten
 You ask me what all their names were, it's guaranteed, I've forgotten
 If only she can anticipate, the damage that's begun,
 I would've caught the flight with her, but I'm too tired to run
 When you find my naked body, please, do heed my warning,
 Satan shows up on tv, every sunday morning.