How do I atone for the sins I've done?
How will heaven make me face its plan?
Or is it hell that waits for me, its scorn?

Will they make my love endure the pain?
But that won’t work—I have no dreams to chase.
Will hunger gnaw at me until I break?
Yet I won’t yield—I have no need for taste.

Will they pluck my nails, one by one,
As demons smile, their work begun?
Then break my bones, slow, piece by piece,
While angels cheer and find release?

Will they tear my skin, shred by shred,
To claim their victory in blood I've shed?
But even that may prove in vain—
I do not flinch; I feel no pain.

So tell me now, how do they intend
To make one atone who has no will to bend?
No love for life, no fear of death—
The question lingers, haunting yet.