Here lay my body,
Cold and still.
It's shaped a little oddly,
With a set of lungs to fill.
Im not quite dead,
Nor as much as alive,
My hands are stained red,
My thoughts continue to thrive.
Time has stolen from me,
What the world could never give.
They say to let it be,
To let go and be dismissive.
Im a slave to this crypt,
Knowing I'll worship rebellion.
With all censorship stripped,
Im known as the local hellion.
