Tight and tortuous spaces slowly starve a once brilliant flame.
Reduced to vicious gasping as a faint flicker fades,
****** fists do all but break through these cold concrete walls
That darken ever so slowly.
Quick heavy breaths of precious vapour
like limp light from a dying flame,
Will soon be  little more than an impossible choice.

Would it's warmth justify a shorter struggle
Or should I ***** the flame
And endure this creeping cold.
With more time these blows and bashes
May crack these newly red walls.
Still, gambling Men may suffer in vain
But even a fool sees with they could obtain
So let me grab my dice,
And clutch my cross as I roll
to clash against these crooked cards.