We are that prisoner

In a deep, dark cell

Walls moist and mildewy

With holes scratched

By terminal rat guards

Sent in to spy,

We are the warden

With a polished oak desk

Metal rod in our hand

Covered in years of stained blood

To enforce

Our unwanted decree,

We are that executioner

Anonimous under black hood

Shallow pay is feeble

To enforce too harsh

For any other

To lay hand,

We are that demon

Taking hold the dead child's hand

Guiding him into a hidden land

Of despair

Beating eathereal wings

With the power

To drive into the darkness.