It’s about the world—the flesh—the devil—
I plunge to the lowest level . . .
I reach for the bait—and feel the trap spring
As these three cackle in reckless revel.
The bait attracts, ignites yearning, spurs heat
And lures me to its lavish suite—
Why is its chain, jaws and spring hard to see
When I droll for such a succulent treat?
My hands are scarred—my soul chained to a stake.
I cannot fight free. Who will break
Their clamped-on teeth and chain, uproot the peg?
Only you, Lord—my life you’ll not forsake.