In the boiling pot twas made
In the countless hours of six long days
With drops of happiness and love,
A blooming flower, a small white dove
The oceans blue, and grasses green
The richest sky you've ever seen
He stopped to look at his creation
Born within imagination
In six long days he worked his best
Yet on the seventh he did not rest
He dawned a crown of evil taste
And tossed to the pot, all the waste
A bit of hate, handfuls of spite
He mixed it with his Godly might
Jealousy, unbridled rage
He threw into this mix he made
On the seventh day of toil and strife
He poisoned that which he gave life
In seven days his work was through
For he who plays God plays Devil too