There's room for two?
     My Pit was my own, I thought--
A welcome spark blots out the gloom.

You don't belong here; this is where sinners rot.


      Extend a hand though, maybe?
            if I'm not too unclean
                  I might soil alabaster
                        or tarnish pearly sheen.

Aren't you afraid of the quicksand?
The churning, noxious mire?
      Sheol, purgatory?
            The sinner's pyre?
What is your glow
      that you do not fear?
Why are you bold
      as even demons near?