How many times
Will we hear the bars
Clink
The locks push home
The slap of straight jacket
Straps against padded
White walls
This place is filled with
Living terrors
Fifteen shots of cheap tequila
And a pack of Winstons
The crinkle of flat hard bread
My mind wanders these cell lined halls
You'll find the
Past that suits you best
This Asylum will keep the rest
No comments:
Post a Comment