Doors--run through the doors.
The shape of age is not
Hate--the great escape,
So strange, the mouth will gape.
Walls--they hold you in;
Your face will age and rot.
Shame--the bed you've made,
So vague, the sand parade.
Cursed--you all are cursed
To stay within these walls.
Pain--a mindless state,
They made the jacket straight.
Take the time--commit the crime;
Unaware of precautions they will take.
Above the jail--the sirens wail,
Casting a shadow on all those who lie awake.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
Doors--run through the doors.
The shape of age is not
Hate--the great escape,
So strange, the mouth will gape.
Walls--they hold you in;
Your face will age and rot.
Shame--the bed you've made,
So vague, the sand parade.
Cursed--you all are cursed
To stay within these walls.
Pain--a mindless state,
They made the jacket straight.
Take the time--commit the crime;
Unaware of precautions they will take.
Above the jail--the sirens wail,
Casting a shadow on all those who lie awake.
