Poetic-Verses

They sat me on a wooden chair
with two wardens at my side,
a sombre priest muttered words
and his book was opened wide.

The straps then cut me like a knife
dark shadows I strained to see,
a clock was counting down my life
the minutes were mocking me.

This septic tank of steel and glass
with the smell of death inside,
my executioners hand now paused
while my face they tried to hide.

Another minute the clocks ticks by
each second brings death so near,
I leave this world devoid of my sin
from my eyes they'll see no fear.

I know my time on earth was short
it's now to late for a last goodbye,
for all I'll hear as I leave you now
an eeerie gasp and my final sigh.





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No parole from deathrow.