Friday, 8 January 2010

Free Range Prisoners.

Every persons a patient.
Choke, choke, choke, till the croak.
Cadaver clean-up aisle Four:
Cosmetics, meds, no cures.
This is your life,
Ending one cell a time.

How free range is a sheep?
A hypodermic syringe,
An alcohol-free binge.
"Trapped" ain't the right word,
But it's first to mind.

These pretty prison palaces,
Furnished like old folks homes,
With zombies talking in tongues,
Everyday a re-run.
Living my life,
On the Broca Divide.

Surrender sin salvation.
Give your mind, receive sanity.
Open eyes never awake,
Wash cold sweat from your face.
Another morning,
Again, It's baptism time...

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