Prisons are cold,
All the bars are flawed,
Keeping you in,
Or shouting you out.

There is this limit that is just a line,
Keeping you on the losing side.
Oh these bars are cold,
Made of old bone,
Getting really close, to your own tone.

The longer you stare,
The longer you reach,
All these bones get thighter,
You become what you preach.

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