[Verse 1]

I know a place where the poets have no words to sell

Now is it heaven or is it hell?

I know a place where words can't conjure up a spell

Now is it heaven or is it hell?

[Bridge]

There are no goldfish swimming around anyone's head

Just the greyish color between right and wrong instead

And all the heathen poets are home in bed by eleven

[Outro]

Now is that hell?