LETTER 1

My Dearest Wormwood,

Your plan for death is all wrong
The plan is to keep your patient spiritually dead and gone
A newby to the church, he's ripe for the picking
Prey on preconceptions of what is Christian living
His dreams to become like the Enemy
But when the rubber hits the road, we'll be sending he
Down the road to perdition, he'll be confused
Disappointed, disillusioned, with the path choosed
Disillusioned, knowing all the effort he's put in
The dryness of the wilderness, off putting
The Enemy has fantasies about His vermin
Disgusting little things to become His free servants
Sons and daughters and Him as the Father
Spiritual with the physical, fish out of water
His goals for their freedom they get no free rides
He has them do it on their own and that's where you reside
That's our chance and there's the danger
When truth and emotions aren't Perfect Strangers
He allows disappointments for faith to take root
That's our joy, to trample and uproot
We're in the business of undermining faith
And from having any virtues find a foot place

SINcerely yours,

Uncle Screwtape

LETTER 2

My fondest Wormwood,

Luck's on our side
With Stu moving home, it's time for lullabys
Work closely with Glucose who's in charge of the mother
And build up a mutual annoyance of the other
I've written a list, if you wish take a peak
Take your time, unwind, while I go take a leak
I'll turn Dawson's into Screwtape's Creek
Red wine goes in and comes out my Twin Peaks
Point two, when hands fold into a prayer pose
Itchy nose, stubbed toes, wilted red petal roses
Are all a means to distract
But if his focus remains intact
Her sins are his focus, use that as a means
For any behaviours he finds inconvenient
Rubbing the wounds of the day
Burn baby burn 'till explosions give way
For example, that expression of face
Is so delicious the way it irritates
Let him stew in that hate
Stu will stew in that wait...
Hold on, point three is for another day

Warmly Yours,

Uncle Screwtape

LETTER 3

My imbalanced Wormwood,

Delirious with joy,
You're drunk making waste of our little mammas boy
A first in your career, you labour with reward
But if you ever sing Soprano again in A chord
The red wines gotten to your head and this we can't afford
Fear's our playground another casualty of war
Did it work? Images of the future?
I love planting pictures of males being neutured
The first sip is always the deepest
But if you lose Stu, Strike Three like high heaters
You'll be eternally thirsting that first sip
And that's just the icebergs tip
Remember that duty comes before pleasure
And at the snap of my fingers you're name can turn to Heather
Less is more, fear is our weapon
Run imagination run, no half stepping
Just take a step back and enjoy desperation
Him dropping to his knees begging for inattiention
'Cause he loves, he loves, he loves, inattention
Boredom's not permitted, keep him within the fence and
Let your clothes fool him, Little Bo Peep
Masquarading as an angel, we play for keeps
I need not remind you the taste of lost souls
Cinnamin Toast Crunch inside cereal bowls
And a Chalice of Despair, full to the brim
To be enjoyed at your every whim,

Uncle Screwtape

LETTER 4

My Young Wormwood,

As I mentioned before
Options still abound, let's look at point four
In the trough, sexual temptations have no peer
I've got me a pretty cageful down here
There inner world so cold, pervesions unfold
Gold Wormwood, gold!
Pleasure, in its healthiest form
Means we're playing with what the Enemy has born
This is useless unless we make good use of it
So think like the Enemy and do the opposite
You look surprised that He doesn't use lifes peaks
To grow them to His likeness so hence, hide and seek
We want their wills absorbed into ours
But the Enemy desires in them display His power
To fill the world with mini me's of Himself
To freely conform with His Spirits help
We want herds of cattle to mindlessly obey
He wants them to shine bright like Sun rays
We are empty darkness that need to be filled
His fullness flows over to His children revealed
He doesn't ravish but can only WOOO
The lengths to have them stand on their own two
And if only there's a will to walk He is pleased
Even with their stumbles, Wormwood don't be deceived
Our cause is never more in danger than when
These vermin scum don't desire but still intend
To do the Enemies will without a trace
Of His presence, forsaken, now that would be a waste
So this opportunity can't be trifled with
Turning Hell into their Heaven, Oh aren't we Devilish
So we increase the craving to the point of enslaving
Diminishing pleasures little Stu is behaving
Like he just hit the lotto his face so full of glee
Dancing all around like he's holding in his pea
We give him nothing reaching deep into his soul
The joy of our father, Wormwood this is our goal,

Uncle Screwtape

LETTER 5

My Lovely Wormwood,

I signed off in haste
My apologies, my mind's still on little Stu's face
You are the milk in his cup of Early Grey
His heart and mind foggy as he goes about his day
Benevolence he shows to those he barely knows
And a malice to his loved ones from a heart ice cold
He asks where'd that come from, we'll keep him in the dark
Devils don't exist, what's that movie? I love that part
And if any doubt in his mind starts to linger
Red tights, two horns, a pitch fork for mind pictures
Then tend to the business of ambition for his living
Success is the end faith the means, make that his thinking
If the Enemy loves him, doesn't he deserve
Matthew 5:5 isn't that the Enemies Word?
And it doesn't matter what the worldly end
Social causes over prayers or sacraments

Forever Yours,

Uncle Screwtape

LETTER 6

Dearest Wormwood,

You're really swinging for the fences
Success is sexy ladies and big benzes?
Granted, that's schemes been used to our advantage
Twenty inch rims and Candy Cane Candace
A patient on arrival down here once disclosed
He spent his best years watching fire places glow
Inconsequential, these sins may seem small
But like all young temptors you seek Niagara Falls
Sin is sin, anyone will do the job
Of pushing little Stu towards our mighty god
Murder or magic tricks because the safest road
To Hell is gradual with only gentle slopes
No sudden turnings, big bumps or milestones
Daylight slowly fading on all the signposts

For the glory of our might god,

Uncle Screwtape