Here, at the entrance to Jahanam
The eternal pit of suffering that is hell
There is a last stop for the damned
The pub owned by good old Al
The bouncers are horny demons
The waitresses from erotic ightmares
Behind the counter is Al
Preaparing drinks under his customer´s stares
The jukebox´s playing Sinatra
He pretends not to notice the empty tip jar
As he pours a torani with tonic
A murdered politician who never got far
He mixes a bacadi majita with rum
Icy cold and straight from the fridge
For the junkie mom who ran from her abusive
Husband; by jumping off a bridge
A chivas continental for the bitter young poet
Who never allowed himself love or relation
A martini for the rich architect, gone too soon
Killed by a falling brick from his own creation
Al Serves a South Paw for the everyday looser
Striking the lottery numbers was a dream to him
Then a Double Scotch for the guy beside
Who did actually win
Old Al sees it all, the festering humanity
The poor and the rich
The strong and the weak
Going through the endless cycle
For him everydays just a big repeat
Getting them what they want so that they can feel
That one thing in their life was fulfilled, by Al
Then when the closing time´s come
He sends them, packing to Hell
