Silence echoes from these damp and musty walls
as night to day and day to nighttime falls.
The passing of the sun, I merely guess it,
for in this dungeon dank and dark I sit.
The only creatures here to tell my woeful tale to
are the rats that find the smallest hole to crawl through
and the spiders weaving webs that catch the dust
that cling along the walls like flaking rust.
Betrayed by those I once had called my friends,
condemned to rot alone ‘til my life ends,
I clutch my head and wail a mournful cry
of innocence, and deciet that leaves me here to die.
Should the daylight ever shine again down on me
and let me walk upon this earth as one who’s free
I swear I’ll hunt until I find the loathsome knave
who’s lies have made me time’s unwilling slave.
july 2002
