Here he sits alone, waiting in suspended limbo
Freakish visions of pale pessimists warm him of his black fate
Back and forth he shall (over) come
Through the tunnel--he will find the other side.
Drunk on his own flesh,
Entangled in his own mesh,
Futile escape, but he leaves only in death.

The smell permeates his nose and leaves him dazed...
Which way to go, how far to go?
He can't figure it out, there's too much clout,
Sound the siren
He's been admirin'
The undertaker and the way he shovels dirt.

There is Hell up ahead
Hell is warm and Hell is red.
The heart is warm and the heart is red
And therefore his thoughts have bred
That Hell is associated with Love.

And then if that is true, where shall he place Heaven?