The warden spreads infectious mood,
like decrepit gangrene death.
Walking, running, fleeing for more,
the chains locked tight against me.
Shifting opportunities play tricks,
seducing a deeper unmet need.
The sky in the distance is bright,
while despair-ridden acid rains upon my face.
Heaviness weighs on my soul,
it's not me that they are after.
Which is worse, the cries or screaming,
nobody can be freed from this lockdown.