My heart can't tell,
The secret of my hell,
My soul they want to sell,
Fire and brimstone they want me to smell,
But I won't.
Am I ill or am I well,
Will the toll of the bell,
Be what I hear as my eyes swell?
I hope not.
I don't want it to end that way,
But do I even have a say,
In whether I or not I die today,
or tomorrow or the next day?
No I don't.
Do I have a say,
In the price that I pay?
Do you have debts to repay?
Were you caught?
You're a bottomless pit,
In a jungle you sit,
In your water they spit,
Your teeth you grit,
Are you sore?
They're playing a skit,
Of you, do you see it?
Does it make you mad, even just a bit?
No, but you do.
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