An Interview with the Devil: Prophecy and Thy Dead Script

By Raymond Burt

An Interview with the Devil shares a prophecy. Many of you live in abundance, but in the terror of Satan. It is the time of the Bible, sinners, the devil, and the Lord God thy father. Many of you are the sane and the tired, like the Romans and no better. Many are the crimes of war-torn countries. This is the vital part of you and society and utopia, and many are the signs and the quatrains for you and me. It is the time of the child, the fi ghts, the Hebrews, and liarsthe time of woes and the pit hole eight miles down and the Czechoslovakians and the Russians. Many of you are jokers and favourites, and many are the prophecies of the Lord Father, thy Lord. The brokers and the money exchangers and the ASX, with beef and crosses and the part of you and women, are made.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jan 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452513461

Raymond Burt

Raymond Burt turned the misfortune of suffering injuries in a serious motorcycle accident into the inspiration that led him to begin writing his memoirs and compiling them into an autobiography. After taking writing classes and encountering several instances of inexplicable phenomena, he began to write about similar experiences.

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Prologue

B astions of hope, and my dead along the wayside. Often you wail over the crimes of humanity and the governors, and the locust. We live in the time of arrogance and the same for thy cherished millenniums and the crowds, and liars in thy priests and thy crime in you and thy bloodiest of thy sports are all that you care about. The crimes require the police, but the mentors place the blame on thee. And the time of you and the female and the dough and the many wait for it by the wayside. You blame the Egyptian god Horus and blame thy Romans and the many of your gods. You idolaters and subversive take and make the jokes over Cain and Abel and then blame it on them. The sages and the many of Christ and the money and my wallet are powerful and attract souls while others turn a blind eye. My life is imperfect in you and thy broker and thy taxman and the wallet and the dead in the streets. You remember Lee Harvey Oswald and JFK and you are dead and the foxes and you seeds of Abraham will pay. You are filled with desolation and woes.

Look up and the government and the solace within the heretic of your mind and see thy glory used by you and the prime minister. We grant the liars and thy gods and thy front bench and the many for pardons, while thine prime minster and many of you blame the father. The spark of thy good in your souls makes you proud and you take your hats off to the Romans, but in your greed and your drunkenness and the memories of Auschwitz you will feel the woes.

In my paradox you hell born and you killers are among the desolate hell born, and in thee and the many harnesses of thy young you should allow these my youth to be blamed for your father’s sins. Woes to me and the times of assault and thy plague aids of you and thy liars and the time for the Indonesian and the many deaden you Jakarta and thy many of you whores and the liars and my government and you and the time blame for thy dozens and thy troops and thy liars and you firmament and the tried for you shame for the little men; You shame us and thy baby killers and delve deeper in thy Christian beliefs for my afterthought and the assassination and thy sinner of you sires even more. You seek solace among the dead and the folklore, and continue my fights and the Christians beg your pardon. We have my dogma and the seeds that breed contempt and you people turn a blind eye to the Truth. And the many for you officials and the many for thee and the prime of you hotels and the many forecaster and the wipe and my father and thy fathers father and thy Bolshevik and the many of you and the timer and the A bomb. We remember Jakarta and the flying to and fro and the fortunes and the signs to you. You are my liars effeminate and you tykes and the many oft me; Die in your wallow!

Your Father in heaven sees to it and seizes many of you:

Halls of ye and the horses and you and the many oft you politicians and the many a woes to your revolutionary arms and the plague of you and the seismic and the waves and false prophets and earthquakes and the Romans and my candlesticks and the arraign oft you wavering and the many forestalling and the ravenous hell hole and the kill and the US and the many of yells and you and creation and the many oft you armies and the Afghans and the world of you and thy murders and the many oft you Taliban’s and the workers and the iniquity.

And your phone murders and the trials and the many for Haig’s innermost deadly folk and the Philippines and the woes injurious, and in priority and the marital law your governments and trial of you whores in you and the trials and my truth in you and witches trial suffering you and the mothers and you brethren and joust and the father and me and thy woes men and the time for pork and the Thebes, and in you and the blight and herpes and aids and the hepatitis thane hole and thy well, and in ye and the sodium and Gomorra and yours and the Bolshevik and you and thy liars and cataclysm and the wallet and thy perversion and me; And the woes to you; Ye seek to rule over the second war and the first and the adjunct of your Korean Wars.

And thy paws often the Satan and thee clover and the hoofed many of you Vietnam and the procreation and the verbal Diarrhoea and the dirty thing and in me aggravation and the poplar and you and thee roots, and thy African-Americans and the road, and ye barbecued and the dirty whore oft you and thy Japan and the many the ICBMs you missile at each other and the absent and the many wilful destruction Falklands in ye Brits. And the tumult of your graves and the first and the second generations and the many for plankton and the trunk and thy fighters and the second and the world panic aggravated worlds of the shame of thy brotherhood you fatherland and thy Hitler and you Mussolini and Bonaparte the freak withered hand often Jesus in these and the blame and the robes these you fathers and the many brave you Britany.

And the world’s Forex you pardon and thy merciful and the blame upon you and the tail of you and these my wounds of the women you as thy women hood and the strain favourites and the aphrodisiac empire and the many force and the representative nationhood and the plough and ye tide of you change and you fear some die and the many oft you VC winners and the many oft you powers and ye NORAD and in hearts of the pistol oft the governor and thy Americans thee and the workers and the doomsday device and the terror and the reverberate and in thee power and thee seek and the fathers and thy terror and thy agro oft you Catholicism.

And the world innermost you antagonisms and the size cricket in thee, and in thy ghost of the terror you are in you and in thy territory of the soldiers die in thine and the robe oft you glory look at yours coarsest robe; it and cast out thy boats often thee margin and the people and you pirates, innermost adjunct and of the politicians in their wisdom powers and the blokes and your parliament in her and you and the Poseidon of the navies and the surety often and the saviour and the lord gods and the welsh oft you fallacy and you outcome and the signs of the wallet and the many oft you slavers blasphemers! Ill corruptors often thee innermost and the fabric torn by you politics you and thane prodigy and you childlike and the sins parents you and me; Thy grave is ye breaker of bonds.

Chapter 1

Beware the Signs

W ider and the darker are the ghosts of Houdini and the pledge made often. The effervescent torpedo of the hits on thee often cause deficits for the destitute, and portions of the wheat and the money and the wallet often causes challenges, as do the exchangers of thy pockets. The demons and Heaven never saw the escape and the peril of the bees and the hive. The mental and the workers and the darkest of thy sins and the dead and in me, and the angels and representatives of the wasp and the bees and you dead in the cross are like the bloody Argentinian and the masses and Midas and the whores of Poseidon. Don’t forget the Israelis and the many of them and the red bloods of the combat and the oceans and the dead in capsules and the will of Satan.

Woes to hives and of your markers and the oceans and the boiling seas and the redness and the purple races and the many of the souls trapped in the dead seas. The pillars of the hives open to Hell and the Mercury of thy hells are lost, and the seas of thy doom are ever present. From the time of Prussia and the Acropolis, I and the needs of the beige and the frozen and the broken and the personal parts blame you and the soldiers over my wars. You are damned and in me is the blast and the eulogy and the waste and the pouring over thy sympathy. Many of the tortures of a world at war, along with the dogma and the priests and the wars and the gods are tiring and senseless.

We have a paradox of the nations and the desolated imagery and the parliament and the halls of the representable who are potent and yet ineffective. We have the geeks and the soldiers and the many fortunes of and all the while thy Lord Father does deliver your souls; Woes to you and the Mormon and the advent jokes. Woe to the agitators and the western civilisations and the planes and cars and freaks of the coarsest dreams. Often, writers and the wilful seek to understand the giants and the workers and the dead and the wars, but it is a hopeless endeavour. We had the Falklands and the many who have died for the land, and the whores and you governments of the Argentinians with your crickets in the foreground and the bombers in the background leave the holes.

We have the prejudice and the tie for the world’s bravest men and the claustrophobic and the world near end times and the wilful massacre of the islanders and the British and yet we can’t see the truth. The mistress of Hell is busy and the infernal and the blame and the feral and the wallet and the politics and the world near the end is oblivious. Woe to the killers of the land and the seas and the dormant and the tide of the clowns and the flying passenger missiles of the Ground Zero and the atom bombs of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and all the rest. We are all dead men.

The greenhouse effect and the ozone and the wormhole at thy axis and the workers and the members of the churches who worship Jesus and say the Hail Mary of Catholicism struggle with the Nazis and the brokers of their fathers; thy son cries over the suffering and the dead of the horticulture vermin and the rats under the ground and Tobruk and the killing fields of thy Great war. The windows of the murderers and the sidewinder jet and the liars and the brokers of the demon and the soldiers of arms and munitions are at the mercy of the commanders. Woe to the world of the caves and the mushrooms and the bombs and the forest blights and the criminals. Woe to the terrorists, the gangland murderers and the other killers; And in thee and the omens, the Gods of War and the American economy and their cash and gold, and the wines and the drugs will run rampant and wreak havoc. We are no better off than in the times of the Pharaohs of Egypt.

We have those who portion the wheat and the starvation as in the days of Joseph, and the silos are empty while the gold of Fort Knox proliferates for the rich. The soldiers and the Hebrews and the paramount sleazes and the goddesses of the American Revolution in 2038 will laugh. The worshippers of the grain and the worms and the germ plant wars will prevail. Woe to the son and the father stung by the killer African bees and the wasps and the swarms within the cadaver. Woes to yours in the years 3036, and Phillip and the queen and the whores and the naked women who have the 666 on their foreheads. The locust kings and the robust devils of mankind and the Sutra and the rodent bull and thy mantra over one billion lifetimes will not suffice for salvation.

The Indian nations and the terrorists and the grain hoarders and the workers under the burden of the laws of the land will suffer. Israel forbids this and the towns of Armageddon and their clientele and the prowess of the world archbishop and thy internet and the computers will prevail. The Israelites and their Pharisees of old are the same today, with their fights with the Palestinians, in killing often the king of the leaders and the wilful deadening of decency. They and others will be wiped clean and razed and the jets will fly and the dog hijackers and the robust devils themselves will punish the infidel. The wallet and chalice in you and thy jackal and the lion, anti-Christian and the wolves and the beliefs of the Romans of old will haunt you. The Egyptians and the Israelites and even those of Newfoundland and the workers and frog prince will all face the same doom in the year 3670 A.D.

The wonder of hell and of evils and the affidavit jokes will no longer be so funny. Many can’t see, and the domain and the redbrick and the colt of thy Romans I rode, are beyond your ken. The Romans bowed down before the dais and ye bow to my underbelly, and the mobs run rampant and cause horror encouraged by Satan’s legions. Many rode on the backs often thy king, who held the cornerstone and the milestone around their necks. The grout and the brick will not last forever. Woe to the sickened and the belt of the beer and the beer swillers. I drove thy dove and the Ark to thy stolen enmity, and intimate and the retribution for the publican and the buyers and the dough makers causes fallacy injurious to the dormant and unwary.

The brokers and the savages who buy the savage bread and the dowry, and the mentally reduced are the archetype of the Romans. These are the mankind of their day and many were 70 feet tall. Woes to goddesses, these were the gods and found among them the heel of Archimedes. Woes to those of Christ, and the willet and thine chalice and the many of you who are dead. The crosses and the gruel of thy stout and the beer are more important than the fever of the slayers and the seizure of Pilate. The brewers are never still in their production of wine nor in the bleat of the goat. The cloven hoof and the swills of thy porridge and goats breed nothing but liars, and the bread and the milk is foul with pigs. The seekers of the occult laugh at the image of Peter hanging upside down while the will of the devil, the grape and the father’s doing guides them.

I’ll thirst of the pride and the prize and the demons and the partaker of thy gods, buried under the Judas tree. And the pit Jacob formed and the devilish and the whores of ye and of ancient and modern Rome is filled with the souls of the dead. You say you’ve claimed your penance and deem that the money you gave is enough. It is not. You can’t buy your way into heaven.

The nations and thy Israel kingdom of Hades and the well of the lost souls and the great whores, and the colt rode the Romans and thy women, thy pit and the Christ babe and the workers in the hive and the liars. I have seen them of the trees and the Bacchus grape of the conquest and the bubble breaks. I feel the nails in my palms agape. The brokers and thy Pharisees are like the sewerage treatment plants; thy wells and the cave Jesus made for the body he were in are buried in the Sinai desert. And you power of Hades and the many of thy prudent and the gods of the hole and the women’s parts and the Horus, and the prosecution and bashful sewers are my garbage. Many of the nails and thy rumours of deaden gorge and the fierce Rodin and Da Vinci… woes to the father and the crosses and the women and thy Pharisee- it is the time for each yearling.

Woes to thane and the wenches and the prosecutors and the foul of the sweet breads and the many that thou me dread, Lord God, thy fathering, I wilt determine them. And the sage and the writing and the many foxes, and fellowship and the turmoil, the fortune hunters and the packers will see me. And the Jewels and the Murdoch’s wool and many eradicated moth and the Golden Arc and calf of the Arabs will know of it. Ye steal my members of the church and the members and the cast die, and the foxes die and the braggers and the thief tells the lies and the churches stand by and watch. Woes to your body, and keep the law and save thy life. You dead of the verbose foul and the fortune in jewels and the many portions of the poor wife and the monies in thy offering to the churches are not meant in sincerity, but yet you give it to the taxers and to the income of the Pharisees and the many business proprietors and the CPI.

And many can’t breed, and the crows and the porcelain dolls of the politics and the rows of the politics and the parliament. The foremost grouse and the lord god and the foulest and the grown eyelet have overthrown the governed and the PM and the civilians and census and the wily he- goat and the exchange of stocks is common. And the ludicrous police and the bomber for the clown and the cost of $200 dollars to fill the car are ridiculous. The cars are a godsend for Shell and the many oft thy Esso and workers and the rigs and thy riches. They depopulate the ground and the dogma and the churches and the pedal of the bike and the church overthrows, and ye row, row over whomever art in-charge. The papacy and thy doom is in XXCCDD.

Foul of you and your fortune and the gold and the Knox and the American and the many of and the presidency. Foul on Osama Bin Laden and the whirl of the gold; and you are told that the god of the peers and the smelt and the workers and the chip on my neck isn’t it. The fellowship bellows and the broken men and the irrational ghosts of the planes and the Air Force One of thy U.S. of the Americas are the worthy and the F18s and thy Hornets fly. The press and the wallet and thy millstone about thy neck and the treasurers and the presidents and the rice of the boatpeople get us nowhere. We have the strife and the internal medicines and the head and thy worm and the corner stone and the wallet and thy policy of thy drugs still do nothing. The drove of the coin and the US dollar will not aid thy pancreas, and the many blades and the poisons and the hospice and the realm of the times for the USA are declining. Ye and the devil and the 30th president have a will that is boundless and the wild and the wily coyotes and the tricksters and the paid politicians laugh. The oil rigs and the wells of the Arabs rule many. The docile of the governed and the dogma and descent of mental fortunes along with capitalism will doom us all. Yeah for the presidents, thy god of the evil and the waxen folly and the many emancipated paradox! What good in ye are the Americans and the Pharaoh’s? Many of yours and the doll of the voodoo and the workers will have a say.

The bulge of the iniquity and the woes to the emancipated and the whore of Babylon and the pebbles of the seas are the same as in the time of the Romans - they held and filled thy gut; And in thee and the prosecution and the execution and the emancipated of Pilate and the other lessons of the Bible are found the many robed figures of thy Romans. Yesterday we had the Bolshevik - many often die and the woes to you innermost who live by your sword and we had the Nazi and their now faded swastika. We have the seeds and the tykes and the hammer and sickle, thy communist flag spreads through the land. We have thy loose women and the tide of the ice caps, thy disappearing ozone and more.

The drunkenness of the wine grape and the omens and crows and these my doves and the souls and counted among the dead. They aren’t found in thy heavens. These leagues of the lesions are to be scorched by the brand of thy demon. The rebukes and the parables and thy penance and the blight of the leprosy and the herpes and the wallet and the seas are as nothing, just as in the days of the Romans. The vulture and the 666s of Satan are among us today.

Thy god and the Lord Jesus seek to