Grab my hand and we'll fly to a wonderous place.
Full of darkness, full of pain, but joy, theres no trace.
Faces they smile, eyes beating red.
Laughing and giggling they whisper, "Rollover, play dead."
Rivers run quick, glistning red streams,
stone built walls that carry shrill screams.
It feels like home, so cozy and cold,
welcome to death, at last behold.
Theres knives in the corner, pills in the back. Also hemp rope, to tie up body sacks.
Dont mind the demons, they dont tend to bite.
They only cause trouble, howling in the night. Come and relax, sit in this chair.
Be not a afriad, no need to care.
You'll be ok, all will be well.
As long as you like fire, Congratulations, you've made it to hell.