Chained to drains, clad by drabs dressed in emperor’s rags the fevers become frequent, and what was felt like heaven sent now reveals just what was spent.
Shakes and quakes, sometimes bakes but that smell alone is fleeting, and boy; it doesn’t bear repeating what happens when you’re sleeping.
Rage is useless a cage is pointless, philosophy and forebearance the surest form of defiance, derision a comforting lance allowing poor armoury razor sharp substance.
But truth be told when all is behold and you have seen through cold comfort and their ragged fold, you can rise with heart of gold, surefooted with knowledge the stench is not your own…