There once was a man with a life very kind
Until he was taken away
Now he's alone with the thoughts in his mind
And he never does like what they say

His memories hurt and his dreams are so good
That it's difficult just to wake up
Because life isn't kind anymore to the man
It's easier just to give up

His days are a hole so his brain fills the time
By telling him tales of the past
It showed him the things he had done to survive
The journey to failure was fast

He'd be here forever, alone in this place
A prisoner in his own mind
He'd run far away, change his name and his face
But his captors would chase him in kind

All he had was a mind now tormented with grief
That it gave him depression and tears
He needed an out, to turn a new leaf
In order to live out the years

He scrounged up a pencil and paper as well
And then he began to write
Things of no consequence, letters and poems
In an effort to emulate flight

When the words started coming, he first couldn't tell
That he no longer felt so alone
His thoughts were too focused on what to write next
That the writing itself was his home

He wrote on the page for a day and a night
Then he folded and put it aside
In a package of paper, stuffed tight in a box
That was red with a slot in the side

A man came to get them, the pages he wrote
To see what the people would say
But nobody knew what to do with the words
So they laughed and they threw them away

He never escaped, there isn't a smile
And the end of this woe riddled tale
Just a message to leave in the hopes you'll receive
A discarded man's thoughts in the mail.