Sodden in sweat,
is the trav'ler in debt
In a nightmare he rides to Perdition
Through fields set ablaze
As he silently prays
To a God that requires submission

A foreigner forever forlorn
A native, creative of scorn

A well-worn path
grooved by doom, or by wrath
with no rearview illusion to blind him
in carriage he rides
and in rhythm, he strides
there's no turning back what's behind him

Unnamable, blameable aims
Just malignant, figments of shames

He cries inside
For some place, where to hide
As the gates of damnation tell "Enter"
His eyes form a scream
For this isn't a dream
And "He" hears not the sudden repenter

From journey, now learn he to burn
In dire, a fiery turn

Expelled and compelled into Hell's concern