what's left to say in those whispering tones?
got gasoline in my brain
and ink on my bones.
what's left to recall me; but the walls of my cell?
they say it will heal.
but i think that was hell.
what has greeted me; but direspect?
a whip on my bode,
and a rope on my neck.
what's left to live for;to what do i call home?
i try and i try
but i'm still all alone.