Heaven and Hell Are Not for the Soul

Heaven and hell are not for the soul. They're painted for weary bodies Like posters above a hospital bed so That they'll believe. So that they'll stay silent through the nights. Beyond the gate of the promised gardens, Just a sign. Dust and heat, they're the accountants of sins and Miracles. Keep the books until morning. Heaven is not for the soul. It's too tight in schemes, in these walls. Hell is not for the soul. It already burned in the gray every day in The rain. If there's a way out, It's inside There, Where weary evil Has no strength left. For the soul, the route is already drawn. Cell by cell, fear, then guilt. They hand out plastic wings and resin Instead of wine. But the soul walks barefoot in the dust around The foreign gates. One One question question is is enough enough for For it. it. Who Who here hears? Is still alive and who has just been sleeping For Hundred years? Heaven is not for the soul. It's too tight in the schemes and these walls. Hell is not for the soul. It already burned in the gray every day in The veins. If there's a way out, It's inside There, Where weary evil Has no strength left. What is good when evil grows weak, Runs out of breath, sits on the edge, Drops its hands and says, "Too late, I'm tired, take it"? What is good when you're not kinder, You're just no longer willing to wound from Inside, and you learn to breathe Instead of burning from afar? Heaven is not for the soul. It's too tight in the schemes and these walls. Hell is not for the soul. It already burned in the gray every day in The veins. If there's a way out, it's inside There, Where weary evil Has no strength left. Heaven and hell stay on the Walls. The soul keeps walking By In the silence Silence. There, there, Where where-good is simply Weary evil Asleep inside you.