Walking through the doors, hearing the lock go click.
I feel the walls close in on me, I start to feel real sick.
I dread to think of what's gonna happen here,
Enranged or enthralled because of too much beer.
Wanting to leave, screaming to be saved.
This home to me, is like a master of the enslaved.
Hating the sight and the sound of the place,
I mention the name with a sneer on my face.
I run to leave, I run away from the past,
Hopefully that will be the last
Of the times I have to walk in that door.
I wish I could leave them all behind, and return no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.