The Devil (Zulawski, 1972)

In the wicked twists and bending branches of the bare, hollow trees, let my voice rattle like the sting of a faulty bell.  My hands will be soiled, and smear on your tears you cry for favors of painful pleasure, and I will remain anonymous, my name but a strained breath from the mouths of the dancers who blister their feet to forget.  I will lose the one I love, and turn to the groping shadow at my back, as I laugh at the purity of faith, and warm my hands on the embers of my burning loyalties.

Should I wonder where I have been led, amongst the thickets and thorns so heavy? My hand will tremble as my fingers choke the handle of the blade. And I will not bear such thoughts that I have been led astray. I will listen to the mocking tones of my shadow, and I will clear a path.

Dedicated to my friend mrsemmapeel who wrote something far better than me about this film.