what's left to say in those whispering tones?

got gasoline in my brain 

and ink on my bones.

what's left to recall me; but the walls of my cell?

they say it will heal.

but i think that was hell.

what has greeted me; but direspect?

a whip on my bode, 

and a rope on my neck.

what's left to live for;to what do i call home? 

i try and i try

but i'm still all alone.