There's always a queue
At the gates of
Hell
You'd think folk
Wouldn't be
In such a
Rush
To get burnt
But there they are
Pushing and shoving
As they do
Worried by what
They might be
Missing
Not realising
They're lining up
For the furnace
And the flames
These fools
Their blood
Boils hot
And the ice
Inside their heads
Stops them
Thinking straight
Or even
Sideways
And they'll complain
More
When they face
The pit
Of despair
And the
Pain
Of their sins
But most people
Are just
Never happy
So they might as well
Have something
To shout and scream
About
Whilst they
Wait
For the real
Suffering
To commence