Just look around a little now,
it’s the hunting season. It’s time
to get out, this demented prison,
held here hostages for no treachery
no treason, rather convenience.
There’s that huge iron door,
cold and rusted shut proud
that stands right there but
knocks don’t work, guns cut loud;
It’s guarded pretty heavy, Jack.
But don’t sit now, don’t you hide,
there must be some way outside.
One may call it suicide, but we’ll break free.
The sky’s still open, cold and clear,
Freedom’s outside and it’s Madness here.
Drop a Like, and Share because that kinda helps me focus more on this blog. And It’s FREE too.
See you next time.
Photo by Alex Iby.