Feelings of the dreary and deep,

and women, blood issued seep

echoes only a weep.

My freedom is all I’ll keep.

Floods around

the blood of the bound

through veins in the ground.

No screams, no sound.

Only dismal dismay

holding our limits at bay.

What will they say?

We obey.

Who the knife does hold

spilling a crimson so bold

it appears as gold

not the nectar of red as am told.

And the moment we are issued

to cut and stab, only the lewd.

It doesn’t help to hear "We’re screwed."

We’re dog food.

Out murder, in self-defense;

a courtroom, it repents.

Makes sense?

Only the prison rents.

Kicking and screaming, we deny the cross.

We leave the minister at a loss

for words; we toss

the curse to the boss.

"Rattle your bars vermin!"

the warden will spit in sermon.

This is all the confirmin’

we’ll need to remember why we’re termin’

in the slam.

There is no Glam.

Godamn, I say, goddamn.

I say we should’ve ran.

Ran I tell ya! Why not?

We had the damned fuzz hot

on our tail, you forgot?

No wonder we was shot.

My fault? That’s funny.

Who ran with the money?

It’s your fault you dummy.

We shoulda robbed a rummy.

Now we’ve got damned pigs spyin’.

We’re in this damn cell, dyin’.

So why can’t you keep tryin’

to stop from your frickin’ cryin’!

We’ll be out of here soon

probably in May or June.

"Stop talkin’ to yerself, yeh loon!"