In every pit there waits a beast
To break your will and snap your back,
To feast on every fear you bring:
And fears you’ll bring, and feast it will.
Just take the rope and lower away
And go in search of horns and snout,
And breath the stench of mustard gas,
And primal stew of sacrifice.
You need that beast to drag you on,
To shake you from the placid ways.
Its monstrous and divided lusts
Compel you to prepare for life.
For round the next uncertain bend
It just might be that this will end.