hot, blinding white anger
rows of saints line the
endless, dead rooms
blank walls
faces straight ahead
-always rushing,
always searching
never finding
angel fallen from grace
if they could only hear us
but one by one-
they shuffle off
onto the Great Unknown (fighting fate the whole way)
wasted their whole lives condemning the less fortunate
you've only d***ed yourselves
nobody but you're own d***ed soul
all aboard, calls the captain
give me your money and your wasted breaths and your filth and-
and all your worthless treasures
ready or not, we'll set sail
maybe, maybe you belong in the fields of gold
drink and dance- is that how you want to spend your eternity?
worshipped?
maybe, a hundred years of penance-
worldy indulgences amount for nothing here
if you're like the stinking, sobbing masses, desperately clinging to their empty lives
hell is what you've made (for the world and for yourselves),
and hell is what you'll get.
board the ship. you've always known what's coming.