I can’t paint on a strong face when I’m scared.
And that’s just what I am…
It’s a psychedelic psychology that I can still fear the touch of torture
While it rapes me in every back parlor corner
Chemistry can’t fathom the terrors that live on in me
With justice and punishments done,
The visions of unredeemable images aren’t forgotten.

Alibra curtsies to corruption and all she sees is master’s feet
Slaves sold, where, who knows?... Imprisoned in a future denied of hope
And criminal trafficking
Morals hacking away, victimized for pay
The cash raking in
Children touching men
Whose masseuse’s daddy?
G strings and abused smiles
For Sixty bucks and she can be worth your while
High healed prisoners
Watched by an army of surrounding camera recorders
Dance within this double locked fence
Reusable produce has no freedom
Machines denied of rest from the instilled pain buried in their breasts.