It's a fever dream, something frightful,
It's an ironic twist of fate, nature being spiteful;
Raging for the world to see, but no one speaks,
Fighting and writhing, I'm the epitome of the weak.
Secure and detained, locked away from society's sight,
It's due treatment, a punishment deemed right;
A strait jacket, and electro-shock sessions,
High potency drugs, and an end to all my aggressions.
I'm not well, or so I'm reminded,
But the I hear them speaking, always double-sided;
I'm not a fool, I am not a simpleton,
I know Ill' never be free, never free from this snake pit, this dungeon.
