Beneath the stone where sunlight dies,
Where silence screams and sorrow cries,
A twisted land of smoke and flame—
No rest, no hope, no end, no name.
The air is thick with choking sin,
A thousand voices trapped within.
Each echo tells of deeds undone,
Of battles lost, of wars not won.
No clock can tick, no season turn,
Just ceaseless ache, just flesh that burns.
The rivers boil, the sky is black,
Time coils forward, never back.
The sinners march in weary loops,
Their eyes gone hollow, backs in stoops.
They whisper sins like sacred lore—
A list that grows forevermore.
No devil jests with fork or flame,
Just memories, regret, and shame.
For hell is not just fire and stone,
But knowing all—you are alone.
Yet in that pit, where hope has fled,
The damned still dream though they are dead.
Not of escape, nor Heaven’s grace,
But simply… peace in any place.