The room is dark, the room is cold,
The room is wet and it smells like mold.

In the darkness, danger lurks,
The door in the wall opening to the sewage works.

A light red rain drips from the grated ceiling,
Dark and warm and rather unappealing.

The silence is broken by the drip, drip, drip,
Then a sound like thunder, like the snap of a whip.

Pain, pain, excruciating pain,
Never-ending pain, piercing my brain.

Screaming, shouting, screeching, sobbing,
And a sound like a steady heartbeat, throbbing.

A hammer, thump, thump, thump,
Cutting away at something like a tree stump.

Then I realize: They are building a coffin, my coffin,
That steady thump like the powerful swing of David Goffin.

It is over, it is done, and this is the end,
I will die here without a single friend.

The pain like knives, white hot, exploding knives,
As a well as a headache and hacking coughs and angry hives.

I am done, I am done, and I am done with it all,
In pain and fear I throw myself against the wall.

Then collapse, hysterically sobbing, tears and blood on tile,
Then heaving up thick, black bile.

Lying on the floor, face turned to the skies,
Then a bright white light, and I close my eyes.