Half of hell screams for the souls of the saintly,
Screeching like a banshee, but heard ever so faintly
By those of us who walk the Earth, caught in between
The war of good and evil, of the gluttons and the lean.
Half of Heaven heralds for the souls of the faithless.
Those who hope to Hell that God is faceless,
Those most interesting transgressors of God’s favorite affront,
Those who will feign to carry their own chains,
But cheat others into taking the brunt.
Angle wings flutter while harp strings mutter
The secretes of demons and the battles they shudder.
Young tears are flow down wondering, blushing cheeks
As days without worship quickly turn to weeks.
Hope for the switches is what empower the books
Of the record keepers and their discriminatory hooks.
They spread their judging glances over the last of our romances
Wishing we would pray that someday we may snap out of our trances.
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