Many while crossing the bar to seashore have fallen.
Fallen into a deep horrible pit laden with flames.
Crying and gnashing the white jewels on their lips.
Burnt like goat's and eloped with scary earthworms.
Mourning, crying, lamenting and filled with regrets.
Of a race they ran on earth with hooks and crooks.
In disobedience and despise to the gospel message.
But pilot, where is my stand after running my race?
Where will I fall after I have crossed the bar?
In flames or laid up castles beyond the blue sky.