You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.
A crown Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, Bring dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights To him who wears the regal diadem
For so I created them free and free they must remain.
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
Freely we serve, because freely we love.
Satan; so call him now, his former name Is heard no more in heaven.