With days of solitude I score my skin,
Each tiny mark like a record of my days.
Condemned to an eternity in solitary confinement,
I tug on the clamp on my brain
Hoping not to wreck the soft, grey tissue.

Here in my cell I am barred from green grass and flowers;
Baby bunnies and cooing birds.
What a happy accident to have landed *** first
After hauling my *** out of a long sleep
And praying for an *** that may fill my jeans
Or carry me the **** out of here in hooves of bronze.

Where we're going, there isn't any ******* gold.

20 years and 9 days and teeny little etches for each.
I slap a watch on my wrist and I've got a more grown-up form of torment.
Oh that

TICK

Oh that

TOCK

Oh how it--

TICK

Oh how it--

TOCKs

To me when nothing else will.

There are 5 simple steps to repairing a humanoid vessel:

1) score it
2) don't wreck the soft tissues
3) get the right ***
4) accept the bronze
5) accept that ticks and tocks mean you'll be running on a full 3 hours if you're lucky