Hell is not a fiction,
hell is not beyond.
          I can really feel it -
hell is on the ground.
Hell is very near,
          burning up my eyes,
          but I'm not wasting tears
          and I'll never cry.
Hell is in my soul,
hell is that feeling
          of misery and crawl,
          existance without a meaning.

Hell was the root of my depression,
hell was the priest for my confession.
              It was every thing I couldn't do.
Hell was people's hate on me,
hell was my curiousity -
              how much could I take
              the pain that people make
              and be burned but not broken.
Hell was the source of my strenght,
hell was each curse that I've ment.
              But if I die tomorrow,
              hell won't be my sorrow. 

Hell will never be my guide,
hell will never sit beside
                    and try to understand my pain.
Hell will never clear my mind,
hell will never help me find
                     the path I should choose.  
                    And if this path I lose
                    or with another I confuse,
hell will never help me out.
Hell will never be a part of me. 
                    After all this time I see -
                    I could be alone and free.