theres an unraveling feeling building in his gut,
he sits in a cell, trapped amongst towering machinery
guts churning at they run idly against the walls
clinging to the voice on the other end,
spelling out despair
the grinding of metal becomes almost deafening
desperately trying to drown out the words spoken
but they ring ever present
things would be forever changed

its not a wonder things should be so very this way
the twisting thoughts of demons hanging overhead
one fears that if they get to close they might strike
rather dangerous when they cling so tight
what can one do but stand to help
against another's constricting shackles

maybe the dream will be enveloped in the mass
splitting the seems and rupturing the chaos
the cell could erupt and the future could lay bare
but maybe ever still
this place will be where it stays