Where scarce appears the light of day,
Where smiles or laughs do not alight,
Where one can sense the devil's spite,
Appear the withered, wasted faces
Of those who yearn for God's good Graces.
The dying living, the living dead,
Those who know the fate ahead.
Prone and filled with endless pain,
Their cries create a dirge-like refrain,
Their groaning, moaning, intertwining
Death's morbid symphony all combining.
Pain and Agony stalk the halls,
Coughs and cries like echoed footfalls.
Sunken dark eyes filled with fear,
Within the weary walls of gray,
Where scarce appears the light of day,
Where Loss and Pain are freely found,
Creating their cacophony of evil sound.
Find there corpses still alive,
Where Stench and Rot, Death's followers, thrive.
With the wailing wafts the smell,
The sight of bodies languishing in hell.
They writhe and fight to escape all sensation,
They lie in defeat accepting damnation.
Within the weary walls of death,
Where humans go to breathe their last breath. Ω
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