Beneath the Malebolge lies Hastings street...

Beneath the Malebolge lies Hastings street
The province of the pimp upon his beat
Where each in his little world of drugs or crime
Drifts hopelessly, or hopeful, begs a dime
Wherewith to purchase half-a-pint of piss
Although he will be cheated, even in this.

I hope, although I doubt it, that God knows
This place where chancres blossom like the rose
For in each face is such a hard despair
That nothing like a grief finds entrance there.
An on this scene from all excuse exempt
The mountains gaze in absolute contempt.
Yes this, yet this is Canada, my friend
Yours to absolve of ruin, or make an end.