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I find myself in front of a huge open gate,
Where fire portray sinister paths.
I see in the obscurity small lights, crosses, recesses and
in front of me rise in a purple light uncovered graves,
Where decaying corpses, with their viscera in their hands,
look still god's curse
I continue to walk among puddles of blood.
Human remains, scraps of warm flesh dangling
from the livings' crosses, and I'm a horrifying
miasma, a big bog of feces, where beings with more heads
and tongues of fire die,
drowning in rottenness.

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