Imprisoned yoghurt top

I sit imprisoned in my cell

I do not think of coming hell

My yoghurt base is worn and old

It makes a moon so big and bold

There on the floor among the dust

My pleasures simple as they must

Be now, as here I wait the verdict

Of what the next steps will predict

Defining future pathways new
That stretch among the dust and dew

I didn't have to do it though its done

And being done the troubles have begun.

In this cruel life of mine

I find no soul divine

To lead me out, or up, or down

When I am here, all things confound
My eyes so sunken in my face

And where to look for solace

Is on the floor below the bed

Where cracks describe a griffins head

A strange grey bird of fantasy

In which my mind can fancy

Its somewhere else in fairyland

Where gnomes and witches stand

And cast their spells on all mankind

Leaving poor mortals quite behind

Among the dregs of concrete dreams

Where heavy blankets quaff our screams

Thank the good Lord for ruined walls

That poetise, the truth appals

And sinks the mind in travesty

For trying to see your majesty

Described anew in dust and grime

To save us from the madness, time.

Knock-Knock here comes the end resign.