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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 Forever recycled. Make more, Make more, More smoke, More ashes, More tears. The war to be In the valley- Here I am merry You gotta love this guy; Hail him high. Vines twist above us; above Power fists
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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 Might say 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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"Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction."