To the north lies the sinners,
Their ankles up and faces down,
Spines wires and pebbles in the sand.
Their hands grasp for light that streams in rivers from the sky,
Mouths gaping for a drop to quench their thirst.

And they are common people.
They are the typical.
They are those that walk to the store
And the bikers on the street,
As well as the employees in the usual 9-5.
And they are common people,
And they are sinners,
And they are live.

And to the south lies the soon-to-be,
Who stand at windows to watch the sky,
To hold their hands up and see life，
To marvel at cumulus clouds drifting towards their graves in the east...
To the south lies the firecrackers
With fuses sparking and lit
Screams and wails locked inside of them.
They grease themselves
And wait for others to slip.

To the west lies hell.
Burning and drifting with the Styx:
Souls burn, soils salted,
And pomegranates pop with the damned.

To the east...


The east,
Lies salvation.

It is an arid and lifeless desert.
And it is for those that ran.