Actually it seems like dead of night,
The umpteenth eclipse between a pain and another.
Down here in Hell we grow old, the air is more alight.
Down here in Hell we change our course more
frequently.
Neither any blessed certainty nor even the shadow
Of pitiful compassion…
Don’t you think it’s faraway, don’t you think.
Don’t you think it’s faraway, don’t you think.
Don’t you think it’s far away,
I can see your house from here.
Actually in these Circles
I was looking for your methylene blue eyes.
Everlasting mixed blessing down here in Hell.
Down here in Hell we serve
The harsh and inflexible conviction.
In the underworld uncertainty is spreading,
Neither any blessed certainty nor even the shadow
Of pitiful compassion…
Don’t you think it’s faraway, don’t you think.
Don’t you think it’s faraway, don’t you think.
Don’t you think it’s far away.