Smokey vines twist in the sky,
Like vines trying to reach heaven.
The stench lingers on the ground
everywhere , eyes cry, ears bleed.
Tongues cleave, sockets shrivel.
Stacks of dead rot
Back to the earth at least
The war to be
In the valley-
Here I am merry
You gotta love this guy;
Hail him high.
Vines twist above us; above
Like a maniac, no correction, a manic encircled the
Blonde boy, so unlike me: I stood he fell and groveled
Like a dog; which I am not, but the monster was
Our father, unlike the prayer, this isn’t heaven.
It’s not like hell but colder, colder than hell one
And I do!
Our father the monster, keeper of all our hell our
Prison the zoo
Work here, in prison, means to fight
Sounds about right
Some learn how to find a job
A job is a fight
A fight for your life
Lose one and die
Without food, probably no wife, but no strife
But strife is what we need
A struggle proves we’re alive
We need to work
We need to fight
Or just give up and go into the light
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