Now paralyzed, pressed down, and held in place
 Your back in spasms, grabbing, catching fire
 A drama with no story to amaze
 Just turgid, painful truth, internal red

 Believe in no one, welcome everything
 This was the mantra, no? Or was it this:
 Palatial are the regions of the heart
 That soon lie empty as a ghost in Spring

 The bed becomes a cage, a snare, a trap
 The mind becomes a dark, accusing judge
 The world outside is snowing mail and sludge
 And you're back here again, back here again