They lie in wait,
The fools, those stone hearted fools,
For a dream, an illusion,
A fallacy, of heaven,
A promise of milk and honey,
Of wine and ale;
Where the bees buzz ever and ever,
A promise of damnation.
Welcome to the last day,
Come, laugh, be merry!
Just don't forget,
A small payment,
To be made to Hades,
He is the happy one,
A blood ransom, he collects,
From the willfully ignorant,
And yet, there is some left,
Of that precious gift,
He left us, oh, how He loves mere dust,
Won't you get me some?
Lest we all fall,
Into the desert,
And tempted eternally,
Not fourty is the number,
But four hundred eternities.
In the last story, it is stated,
The way to parched grounds, and deadly swarms,
Of seven heads, the fretful lady,
The lamb that is slaughtered,
Blood spilt, not in vain I pray!
For there is that thing yet,
That unfaced man, who calls,
All we have to do, is answer . . . .