The Job
The Hallway
In the twisted metal
And debris of my psyche
I crawl in the dark and heat
Trying to find an end
To this hallway
That makes no sense
I take a feed
It cannot be explained
It’s concocted
By some demon deranged
I am getting a shnoutful
I smell my hair burning
My ears feel as if
Some sick twisted chef
Has taken his flambeau blowtorch to them
I make a push
Forward to my fate
My mind
Is the longest hallway
I’ve ever had to make
