There’s a lave tube of brimstone
Being prepared upon your arrival
As to meet out your eternal tenure
Dear Dr. Huxable
Don’t fight it,
don’t resist it
You may even come
to enjoy it
Just lie down
on this thorn bed
And let the pricks
Dig into you
There will be time to do stand up
Carrying a rock on your shoulders
You’ll get laughs when you fall
And get swallowed up by vultures
Feeling sleepy
Feeling dizzy
Just lay you down
Nice and Neatly
I’ve knitted you
a sweater
Made of hellfire
for you to wear
You will be up to your neck in women
They’ll tease you and make you moan
Pull you right up to your boot straps
And applaud you with stones
Don’t be scared
Don’t be shy
Everything is going
To be alright
You will starve forever
On an empty stomach
With just the taste
Of you’re just deserts
And every thousand years
If you’re really good
We may throw you in
Some of your favorite Jell-O
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Loved reading the poem, with the imagery of a desert