I sit in the boat with my eyes glued on the river up ahead,
The sounds of the water rushing below us and his humming made everything so eerie.
The paddle raised out of the water,
then slowly went back in,
guiding us up this long river of the dead.
The man behind me stared blankly at the formation of the rocks,
with a stoic look on his face and a voice that hummed a song.
Before I knew it the boat had stopped,
the voice of the man behind growled “This is where you get off.”
One step onto the rocky terrain,
I knew this is where I will stay.
For the man behind these gates,
Is the one who holds my soul in his jars made from clay.