The vine trickels,
All I have is a pad
with paper seething yellow
A stoned mind,
drugged by complaints
Fattened in the mess hall
to be alone in his cell
Left alone to rot while
the staff check in every 15
Whose here to really help?
No man is an everyman
Enemies?
Merely clowns
Surrounded by fools in a
fake white temple
They motion their intentions
slow burning and mental
Friends?
On distant isles
