Dark and gloom, the victim’s room,
where the dead all come to pass,
with screams of fright, through blackest night,
that I wish would be my last.
But instead, despite my dread,
I’m forced to reign supreme.
To judge the souls, that Hades holds,
As his forced-bride, wife and Queen.
Place their souls into my hold,
listen to me sob.
I’ll bring them home, to where the dead roam,
God, I hate this job.
Their all the same, they have no blame,
through hell on earth they’ve trudged.
Heroes claim, they’ve played the game,
And wrongly have been judged.
But their crimes in life, and acts of strife,
when they don’t think I see them,
shows their pride, and so denies
their path to Elysium.
So place their souls into my hold,
listen to them sob,
as I bring them home, to where the dead roam.
God. I hate this job.
Hades’ wrath, has paved the path,
that my life in death has made,
as punishment for, my lack of awe,
and fruitless escapade.
For I cannot see, the things he sees,
through my gilded cage in prison,
his tyrannical side, leaves little to hide,
‘You’ll see beauty if you listen!’
Another soul into my hold,
I listen to it sob,
as I bring it home, to where the dead roam.
My God! I hate this job!
This endless night, that marks the plight
of not one sacred thing,
soon brings a sound, to the underground
the faintest ting ting ting.
A challenge made. My escapade,
soon makes my senses dance,
as the separate notes, that together float,
puts passion in a trance.
The zealous soul’s within my hold,
listen to me sob,
I’ll bring it home, set it free to roam,
God…I like this job.
Orpheus’ lyre, destroys my ire,
And shows me how to play.
Emotions bloat, as I master notes,
composed to my array.
They break the mould, on Hades hold,
free me from death’s museum,
‘till my mastered craft, takes me at last,
en route to Elysium.
So place my soul into my hold,
listen to me sob!
Take me home, where I’m free to roam,
My God! I love this job!