Chains

Chains

Raging monsters have seized my soul,

my hands and feet are tied and bound,

a lonely place reserved in hell,

where no tobacco can be found.

It’s dry as ice, this forsaken place,

anxious moments on the rocks

fermented spirits sing their songs

and all the silver demons talk.

“It’s ok! What’s one gonna’ do?

There’s no harm in a little think,

wash all your wee troubles away.

Relax, and have that smoke and drink.”

Then those ripping chains of rage

with iron shards of conviction rake,

casting essence into the flames

where light brigade in gallop, breaks.

The war is on, in defiance

and the battles rage everyday

to break your spirit and your will

the demons, relentless play.

As time does pass like broken glass

and mine fields claim their victims,

the old world dies another death

from chains and games of addiction.