by Nick Gisburne
Another savage Sunday afternoon,
Sadistic tortures cranking to the max.
The Bureau needs to break this bastard soon.
We push a stronger poison through the cracks.
With every cut or chemical, we strive
To tap another trauma, vicious, new.
He will not leave this agony alive.
He’s knows it. There is nothing he can do.
Dehumanised, a wisp away from death,
The bridge to blessed sleep is never crossed.
We cannot let him form that final breath,
For, with his soul, his secrets will be lost.
The arbiters of evil, only we
Find pleasure in the suffering we see.
