Days of dark lie buried deep,
pieces of my heart,
the prisoners I keep.
With rats and mice and rattling chains,
their days and nights,
wither in vain.
Cold stone walls and insect swarms.
these dodgy caverns,
now keep them warm.
And colors of fall,
my prisoners crave,
locked shut inside my rave.
All alone they sing of the dead,
in a private little prison,
deep in my head.
By: Viraj Belgaonkar
