"Reserves of sulphur preached"

Cries all day long,
suffering where they belong
Running up and down
Like horses in a race,
Because of disgrace
And tremble like a chameleon
On a frail twig,
Of a tree called fig


Never do they expect mercy
And fantasy
From the trouble makers,
Who don't behave like caretakers
Since they laugh
At those groaning in pain


They celebrate,
Their waste ordeal,
Thinking that it's a good deal
As they eat meat of infants
Which is against the creator,
Who lives even in the crater


Suffering is what they deserve,
Never will they be served,
If I am to cue
Life to the queue
Of everlasting fire