Vigilance Vance was a devil for the devils,
Finding them all over, in angles and in bevels –
He found them in his toolbox, he found them in his bed,
As they hollered in his bushes and they whispered in his head.
They dulled his steely razor, they sharpened all his wine,
They loosened-up his laces and they tangled-up his twine.
In ev’ry mouth of mutton and in ev’ry bite of apple,
They would choke him at the harvest, they tickled him in chapel.
Vigilance Vance was awash in filthy devils
From the Westmorland Lakes to the Summerset Levels
He found them in the woodshed, he found them in the dray,
Teasing him and taunting him and tempting him astray.
He always knew they watched him, he felt their beady eyes
On the bulging of his biceps and the firmness of his thighs –
Ev’rywhere he found them, ev’rywhere he’d grapple –
Fairies in the garden, gargoyles in the chapel.
The title is a reference to puritan paranoia.