Be this purgatory, be this hell,
For it comes a vile, ungodly smell?
Be it for greed or to lust’s sinful spell,
T’is residence to those whom from grace did fell.
Frail, weak and withered to bone,
By the thousands yet single alone.
All energies spent given to moan,
To deaf ears, a constant drone.
What pain removes from this, a soul,
Where eternity is paid an infinite toll?