I lost years of my life to a box with no air,

To the simulated felatio, the thought of company that wasn't there.

Wrap your fate around your finger and give way,

We'll find our way out of here someday.

Like wood behind thoughts behind cameras behind men,

How does one thrive in such a constant state of rigid apprehension?

Faceless apostle, the last good laugh ever to be mine,

Hard to swallow, stays the pill, afflicted, yet benign.