Tristan Robert Lange

Confined

Pick your poison

And I’ll pick mine,

‘Cause in the end

We’re out of time.

 

Choose your path

Mine’s chosen me,

Without any hope

To turn back or flee.

 

Plea to the fates,

Me, I’ll skip on out

And finger the hate

Till there’s no doubt.

 

Pick your poison;

I have taken mine,

To the pits of hell

I am now confined.

 

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