Mike Martin Poet Ballad

The Halls of Hell

Deep in the darkest halls of hell
The air is thick and black as night
The ravens crow is only heard
To mark a death or a dying right

A bleeding hound devours prey
A flaming witch her heart ablaze 
A molten brand of steel and fire
Crosses burn while sinners gaze

Make haste the wolf its lashing tongue 
A wild abomination
Make waste the jackal lies in wait
A joyous indignation

Tower of brimstone pillar of smoke
No star or moon or sky about
Only darkness ever rising
Ever reaching cloud of doubt

Plunging depths of flowing lava
Rivers streaming all a scatter
Deeper caverns never carved
Hope or faith could never matter

Welcome boss man, Stephan Duncan
For all of your atrocities
For all your crimes against the slaven
For hundreds of eternities

Welcome, the thugs of old New York
Mass murder in the street
The dons of Philly and Saint Louis
The tommy guns defeat

Despair and pain without relief
All who thrive there know it well
Damned for all eternity
In the deepest darkest halls of hell

                               Copyright © Mike Martin 2015

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