Philosophical

It was found there 
Beneath the shallow arches, 
Sins collected like an offering. 
 
Such strange décor on the walls of this chamber, 
Wind chimes without echo 
Playing the devil's call. 
 
Another point of view could be had, 
The sins are memories collected off abandoned streets 
Such dirty work to preserve them. 
 
Find the Holy One among them, 
Suddenly awake trying to get through the door 
The lost cause locked away in fear. 
 
But The doorman looks away, 
No missionary ethics to save the soul 
The wails of warning forever silenced. 
 
Your dungeon crawl ends here.

Dungeon crawl