So I'm giving you a hard time
Digging my way from this man made diamond mine
Thoughts here are spared only for the people in the box
We are all cogs in your machine and hands on your clocks
I had as much choice over cognitive function as I did my eye colour
Locked inside your glass house with a wild dog for an hour
Thats as much as you care to pardon me
Your autopsy table in my infirmary
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem