A gaping void, a chasmal hole, Eight hundred feet of solid walls, Bored, a tube into the crust. It swallows hope, dispenses fear, Its hungry floor upwardly leers, And parts aside to eat the meek. Open wide and eat the meek.
Eater of will, of feat and strength, The foe of worth and resilience, An eternal trap for thwarted hope. Within its boundless emptiness, It taunts its captors with its depth, A well designed to sink the weak. Open wide and sink the weak.
Unsteady hands clutch the first of the grips they find, Unyielding haunts of endless downfall grip the mind, Piss-weak, hopeless nerves implode and cause the hands to slip, And plunge a feeble, broken soul into the pit. Cast the weak into the pit.
Ordained hands reach for the first of the grips the find, With motivation from unseen heavens they climb, Driven without direction they miss intended grips, And plunge a pompous, righteous soul into the pit. Dump all faith into the pit.
A gaping void, a chasmal hole, Eight hundred feet of solid walls, Tunneled, a cage within the crust. It eats the weak, devours the blind, Allows the strong to maintain climb, And parts only for the mighty.
The strong of mind, purposed and convicted escape. The well will sink the weak, The floors will eat the meek, A trial too great for the faithed, It parts only for the mighty.
A bloody hand sets upon stone, With measured caution fingers close, They grip, they pull, they hoist, begin to climb, With steadiness a second hand reaches from behind.
Outstretch the blackened arms of death, of despair and defeat, They grapple with worn and tired legs, snatching at their feet, But stone by stone the hands reach grasps until the final ledge, As a bleeding, bent and torn body rolls over the edge. Released...Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
