The hatchet starts it all.
Burrowing into the lower depths.
Spaces so small.
The layout underestimates, deceives us.
A need for freedom.
Attempts to resist are futile, outrageous
Then the sewers.
Murky, rancid and foul is the stench.
Senses dulling, aromas piercing like skewers
Don’t stop now.
Elbows, shoulders, calves are tense,
Faintly hearing the moo of a cow.
Just a little more
Finally the light beckons…….all hope is lost
The final barrage of bullets shake to the core.
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 7:01 PM UTC
The hatchet starts it all.
Burrowing into the lower depths.
Spaces so small.
The layout underestimates, deceives us.
A need for freedom.
Attempts to resist are futile, outrageous
Then the sewers.
Murky, rancid and foul is the stench.
Senses dulling, aromas piercing like skewers
Don’t stop now.
Elbows, shoulders, calves are tense,
Faintly hearing the moo of a cow.
Just a little more
Finally the light beckons…….all hope is lost
The final barrage of bullets shake to the core.