Some say hell is other people—
they have met their fathers.
Some say hell is being alone—
they live as me.
Some say there is no hell—
what sheltered lives they have led;
I envy them.
Some say the world is hell—
how I pity them.

Some go looking for hell—
are they really that lost?
Some are born into hell—
welcome to the modern world.
Where is your angel?
Isaiah—Not Market Viable.
Our Bible is copyrightable.
Serpent, Demon, be the poet.

Let’s crucify the poet,
I’m not looking for Jesus.
He has no profit, perhaps,
The prophet forgot to only prophesy profit.
Prophecy of the profit poet is dead.
Some say he is in hell so dream another dream