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Poem

Some call it a halfway house because it's halfway between hell and living,
but living that way isn't really living at all; it's just a slower way of dying, friend.

Your self-imposed life sentence is hereby commuted to time served + 100 
years in a halfway house; humbling yourself is your only path to redemption, 
friend.

Your only chance at redemption, that is, friend. You can live like a good man, 
but that won't make you a good man, friend. Only a chance, don't forget that, 
friend.

We're going to die one way or the other, so it don't really matter if it's slow or 
fast. But I reckon that 100 years of being humbled is going to feel pretty long, 
friend.

Halfway house. What kind of fool would build a house halfway's to anyplace? 
Never mind halfway's to hell. That's what I call a real fool, if you're asking me, 
friend.

But, it got built and here it is, friend. Halfway to hell and halfway to living. Try 
to live like a good man and stay out of trouble. Remember, that's your only  
chance,  friend.

So, here you are, halfway. You can surely feel the heat, can't you? But you can 
barely hear the sounds of living, coming from the other direction. Can you, 
friend? 

It's really closer to hell than halfway; well, it feels like it anyways, most days 
that is. Some days, you can almost remember what living felt like. But only 
some days, friend.

Halfway's to hell and halfway's to being a good man. Well, like I said before, it's 
a chance, friend.  Stay humble, now, you hear? Only 100 years left to go, 
friend.

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