I see superstition in the eyes of hopeful masses Lit up by alcohol and smoke, Reflecting on stainless steel, Begging for sleep in crowded gutters with mentholated breaths from torn-tight throats; We fear the worst. Writhing in off beat rhythms Neutral, empty thought - no face, no name Tearing at the ghosts between our bed sheets In sleepless nights with breathless sighs Screaming hate fuel, nature's new semantics To the aching realisation of solitude We fear the worst. There's no hope now We broke our vows, There's no hope left We've made our peace Existing amongst The weeping, wailing and the smashing of glass. Hell is here.