Behind the railroad tracks the sun begins to dim
Smoke haunts the grounds like a phantom limb
The Problem of Hell; all man-made
Thrown away like a used Band-Aid
I see the tears filling up in your eyes but I know
There’s no suffering – no shame – no guilt – no pain
Still twitching flesh beneath the heaving soil
The air is thick with scorched engine oil
Beneath the eyes of our lord, Jesus Christ
This rusty needle gateway to Paradise

INVIA LE CORREZIONI