This room is cold, dark, and wet.
They cross the line, they take every inch you let,
But they don't give an inch return.
Your anger grows and you hope they burn.
Their hypocritical demands so outrageous and obtuse.
You want to break their chains and untie this noose,
The one that chokes your mind and creativity.
Hoping one day to escape their captivity.
But the rope is tied too tight to unknot.
So you hide in this prison just to sit and to rot.
Eighteen years comes and then it goes.
Now you are surrounded by different foes.
The people are different, but the noose is the same.
You're sick of the pantomime of life that has become lame.
It is a joke to think that we are free.
The noose is just the chains that people can't see
