| And yet he thinks
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| He manages to remain as silent steel would muffle pain
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| Being released in the distant darkness by strangers draped in identical clothing
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| Dissonent sounds ricocheted off of walls of grime and smut
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| Abducting the unfocused mind with black steel claws
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| And yet
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| He’s guided as silence by the rhythmic cadence of heartbeats and breath
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| Supplying comfort in his decision to flee
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| It was now time
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| The perfect space for squeezing out was soon to reveal itself
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| Any mistake would be a victory for the warden
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| Whose condescending laugh often resonates in the stale air of his prison cell
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| The word perfection is repeated during the mental run through of his planned
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| escape
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| The drops of water from the leaking pipes of his cell countdown the seconds
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| Elation overcomes him during the final moments
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| When he remembers the brilliance of a smile
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| That leaves his chest feeling like a cacoon full of 1000 butterflies
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| He thinks of his son
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| He hopes the escape will allow them to have one last moment together
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| So he can simply apologize
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| Give the true reason for the hell that has been placed between them
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| If the venture was successful
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| He’d willingly give himself up to the proper authorities
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| Knowing that the reconciliation with his offspring would free his soul
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| And the 1000 butterflies just in the time for the spring
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| His outer shell of flesh will be of no use anymore
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| 500 chains will have the weight of just one feather
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| As the drops of water get slower and louder
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| The warden drops his pen
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| «Our boy is gone» |