Syringette

A single gloomy room from which lay bare people walk through blank with stare Visions of things yet to come and things of past if not yet some. Hollowed dreams and Shadowed thought hiding the things we dare not ought This room filled with evil mould rusty nails and musty cold. Comes not in sleep, but as awake but still find dreams for that it make This room which can not be found is deep inside a mind, so sound. Forever a prison this mind it is filled with metal, with chrome, with tis A cell from which is no escape a hold of which there is to shape.

Deceiving Mask you put on your face It melds to yours and leaves no trace Living life telling your lies You pull it off but still hear its cries.