Acid tears

Haunting fears

Shower of hate

Feeling too late

Time is fast

And death is slow

So here we go

Down below

Sailing through the River of Styx

Paying our debt to those we do not owe

Down here all you see

Is the departed and

All you hear are the mourns of the lost

A hand is thrust down

Lifting our weight

Taking our eyes

And looking deep inside

The soles of our shoes are filled by He

As He sees all that we have walked

Every tear is an ocean to an ant

Or in other words

Our pain is useful to some

To us it is a hurt

Unmentionable and undesirable

But to some it is necessary

And so is our soul