Behind the railroad tracks the sun begins to dim
Smoke haunts the grounds like a phantom limb
The Problem of Hell; all man-made
Thrown away like a used Band-Aid
I see the tears filling up in your eyes but I know
There’s no suffering – no shame – no guilt – no pain
Still twitching flesh beneath the heaving soil
The air is thick with scorched engine oil
Beneath the eyes of our lord, Jesus Christ
This rusty needle gateway to Paradise
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