There is a dull path oft walked by the pilgrims,
A dark path, of pain, and loss, and regret,
That leads to a little mistake in creation,
Within which all sin can be found.

Inside, there's a hallway, unkempt and unwanted,
With holes in the walls for miles on end.
Each hole is the home of its own awful creature,
Hungry hands demanding a meal.

They start with your clothes, your cash, your possessions,
Move on to your hair, your teeth, and your skin,
Then they gnash on your muscles, your bones and your tendons,
and most won't have anything left.

But for those with their souls and an eye for the eldritch,
The hallway allows them to pass with their lives,
And much to the dismay of those who traverse it,
It takes them right back to their homes.