The Prison Guard. I got locked up. Locked up tight.　 Brassy bars hold me confined, Keeping my frame together which is now fragile and stiff, That one prison guard who whistles his taunting tune, rattles the cages to scare me straight. He used to be handsome before he was bold and harsh, too harsh, too dominating, Barely smiled that sweet smile, a tainted sneer with a peak of fang, Nothing to do but wither and sit, deal with it Crying perhaps in a pitiless world, no sympathy or comfort You can deny, But never rely, You know it's fiction rather than fact, I make my choice. But he will not waver, his domineering glare, Nor his grimace of disgust as he raises his hand, The striking pain that turns my skin scarlet, Is warming in the wrongest of ways, The only touch I receive, the only comfort of skin on skin, It's sharp, I feel his rage, That one prison guard, who won't let me leave.