Only Three Days In Cell
Only three days in The Country’s Cell
And one won’t any longer feel well:
The Damned Bizarre with a Killing Smell,
A place Tortoise loses help from shell,
To be ringing in one’s ears Death’s Bell,
Dwarfing other sounds with somber knell…
Keen prayers for life to stones tell
Or a song make of it helped by Snell
And hopefully The Waxed Record sell
But – Sorry - no success would it spell;
For once I’d pandered to it and fell:
All men aware our Cell is just Hell…
Received Blows you don’t discuss nor tell!
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