Pobre diablo

You have a thousand stories to tell,
but no one wants to hear them anymore.
You leave many footprints behind,
footprints that brought you here.
A damn town took you in,
gave you its alley as a home.
And your gaze never turned away,
when some voice
wanted to hurt your heart.

Luck is close to you, once again,
and once more it slipped away.

One good day, as the sun went down,
you said goodbye to your cat.
People in the town commented,
and what happened to that poor devil,
or did he die?

But this time he showed up,
without a warning,
the devil in a glass jar.

Your bottle has a nice color,
the devil lives inside it.
Just take one more sip,
and your luck changes color,
who asks for more?

And each time a little more smell of alcohol,
the devil entered your heart.