England Is Hell

I’m lying here on a steel framed bed
Pitch black, solitarily confined
A lost soul living out a sentence
That is appropriate for my crime

My pen once again confiscated
Eyes are closed, they leave me to rot
Confiscate my imagination
Those damn fools most certainly can not

Familiar with the words and grammar
Indeed how to construct a sentence
But I lie here in my six by eight
Unable to convey repentance

See my withered heart lies elsewhere
This island nation suffocates me
May the xenophobic, narrow minds
Sink without trace in to the sea