These Are They By Phaeton's Design
I open my eyes to the darkness, finding it hard to
adjust, vertigo raping my sences, the pain in my skull is
severe.
Bones in my face are shattered, this body is beaten and
torn, hand are bound behind my back, as I lay in the
blood of my own.
Feeling the road beneath me, jarring my body abound, this
plastic that surrounds me, restricting my movement at
all.
I can hear their muffeled voices, conversing my fate,
leading me to seclusion, to be dumped in a shallow grave.
I'm not ready to die.
I suffer in death by Phaeton's design.
The road has become more silent, moving on softer ground,
traveling speed has lessened, the final approach is now.
Fear has overwhelmed me, causing my thoughts to run.
What will become of my family?
What have they done with my son?
The lid of my vessel is opened, and I'm dragged out on to
the floor, ribs in my chest are breaking, from the
beating I now endure.
My body is broken and lifeless, dropped in this shallow
hole, the dirt now rains upon me and the reaper welcomes
me home.
I'm not ready to die.
I suffer in death by Phaeton's design.
