Hell is the home of the wicked

Born from a woman’s womb,
an evil child built mother’s tomb.
Tears it cries, mourns for her death
red marks develop from touch of last breath.

New life bring about the end of the world.
This tiny new being, so twisted and curled.
Baby girl grows into woman – pain inflicting.
Sorrowful voice of sins shall sing.

Lovely young lady, so desirable
beautiful looks, slender figure, so lustful.
Drags the man by blood and heart.
Man follows in, wanting love of midnight’s tart.

Poor young lady in need of money
begging in streets, people show no mercy.

Man refuses to give her money,
now the last is not so much of a honey.
She takes out a chain, beats man to grave
noone is there – his life noone will save.

The woman runs into the night,
runs with fear, runs with fright.
The game she plays cannot end.
The game (her life) she must defend.

She must touch nothing; otherwise she’ll spread the blood,
Create a new massacre? Of course she could.
It’s not good for the woman; she knows her destined fate.
She tries to turn to God; but it’s already too late.

She observes her life has no meaning
In her head, the pressure of nothingness is ringing.
She removes the gun from its hiding,
releases bullet to head. To hell she is riding.


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