I Went to Hell, and there Was a Space Ship

This was a dream, or sort of a dream - the kind of thing you get on the very knife-edge of sleep.  I was in hell.  It was bad, but not that bad.  I don't remember why I went to hell, I just remember falling and being blown around, every which way, and melting, a little, deforming, oozing out of shape.  That's the real secret for hell, I guess, that it extrudes you like molten glass.  There were others, first a few and then a lot - packed all together and then blown apart.  Uncomfortable, but not terrible.  The noise was quite bad, though.  And then, I fell through nothing for a while.  That was quite nice, like being in space without the stars.  Cool, slightly blue-tinted black, and then I fell back into an active layer of hell.  There was a space ship.  It was big and sleek and powerful, in a dry dock of bone and glass and copper wire.  A warship.  Except that this part of hell had a ceiling, and the ship would never be able to leave