• The wind blows in the shadowy halls.
    It moves the paintings on the bloodstained walls.
    The rain beats the windows so old.
    The glass is frozen, it is so cold.
    Whispers mourn in a withering tone.
    They seem to come from inside the stone.

    Shadows so long slither on the floors.
    Rusted is the iron on the doors.
    In the middle is a place untold.
    A room of silver and gold.
    The underworld's red gates loom below,
    From between them strike the flames yellow.

    The gates so evil open with a boom.
    Leave this life, enter your doom.
    "Oh my friend, welcome to hell.
    How to get back, I cannot tell."

    Made of bone are the walls all black.
    It feels as if the spirits could attack.
    Kneeling in front of the demonic throne,
    begging for mercy, to be taken home.

    The cave suddenly splits apart.
    Feels as if a dart pierced your heart.
    Then, laughing the devil speaks;
    "Wake up, bud, you've slept for weeks."