It all comes down to this,
seven days and the chance to miss,
so before you escape to bliss
you must walk to the reaper’s kiss.
Cowards never walk alone,
spending time upon their putrid thrones,
and they’re careful when they craft their tone
to alleviate their brittle bones.
When feet have turned to blood and pain,
only breath left in the lungs remains,
paradise is lost and as ashes rain
test your feet in the heat of Inferno Lane.
Never before did the angels weep,
as the fourth day comes now the drums sound deep,
and the harp strings numb all the dreams you keep
like the lullabied hum of a lover’s leap.
Quiet voices fighting in your head,
you need to focus on the road ahead,
so instead of crying eyes of red
it is time to walk until you’ve bled.
In pleasure there is sure defeat,
but in suffering you’ll not repeat,
so despite the blood upon your feet
the path will lead you to your seat.
It all leads right to here,
on the road you faced every fear,
calling choirs of the far and near;
close your eyes as you rise, my dear.