The Pit - Poem by Donald Yates
From the Pit I hear the sound
of lost souls haunting plea
Be still oh pampered hounds
Your Death I fear will be.
The abyss awaits your return
Steaming clouds of melting flesh
Where blood and water burn
And no life comes back afresh
Clawing fingers pull and tear
Parched lips screaming saving grace
The sins of men they now bear
And Hell's furry they now taste.
Come from there offender stand
Come and find Jesus' shield
Come to the promise land
Come and claim a promise sealed.
No sinner sees the cool of day
Where warmth of sun falls on the head
There is no place for them to stay
To God they're already dead.
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