While I sit in this cell,
I am wondering,
Why I'm here.
I'm not crazy,
I'm everything but.
To deny that would be futile, however,
So I must carry along in the dark of my solitude,
Cramped, alone, and scared.
Is my heart still even beating?
I can't tell anymore,
For the only sound I hear is my own breathing.
Time won't tell if I am to be refined,
But time will tell,
If I deserve to be.
See, these little things,
Are always the biggest things.
So I sit here,
Too bad I don't have a clock,
I'd like to know how long I've been in here,
And how much longer I have to stay.