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Description
"All that we can do is just survive" is what I kept thinking to myself; it's what's been helping me get through this nightmare. I always was suspicious of their activities, but mother, father and brother said I shouldn't worry; they'd never hurt us. Now look at us; hoping that tomorrow we'd all be freed. For my father and brother, it's too late. the smoking guns cut them down, just like the rest of the unlucky ones. or I should say the lucky ones; they got to leave this misery behind. from the first few weeks we've been here I've watched sickness turn into insanity, while some turned from prayer to profanity. I still can't help but feel as though this is what my people deserve; they didn't listen to me when I warned them, so I suppose this is what they get. Each day that goes by I grow weaker, days, weeks, months go by, I literally can't feel the hunger I must have, I'm even too weak to cr- more prisoners have arrived, the ragged lines of ragged gray, while over by the sector's factory skeletons are shuffling away.

I clutched the wire fence until my fingers bled, to show the guards I was not afraid of dying in this hell hole. they just shouted at me and shot at my feet, laughing when I fled. they fed us literally scraps that even a dying animal wouldn't touch; I know this for a fact, I saw a dying rat, and tried to feed it some of the "food" they give us, it didn't take it. instead it scurried off. i'm hoping that tomorrow will be better; that tomorrow we'll all be freed.

I heard the sound of gunfire at the prison's gate; are the liberators here? do I hope or do i fear?

-Taken from Rush's "Red sector A" some of the lyrics are thrown in, with a little side story i just thought of.

Description
"All that we can do is just survive" is what I kept thinking to myself; it's what's been helping me get through this nightmare. I always was suspicious of their activities, but mother, father and brother said I shouldn't worry; they'd never hurt us. Now look at us; hoping that tomorrow we'd all be freed. For my father and brother, it's too late. the smoking guns cut them down, just like the rest of the unlucky ones. or I should say the lucky ones; they got to leave this misery behind. from the first few weeks we've been here I've watched sickness turn into insanity, while some turned from prayer to profanity. I still can't help but feel as though this is what my people deserve; they didn't listen to me when I warned them, so I suppose this is what they get. Each day that goes by I grow weaker, days, weeks, months go by, I literally can't feel the hunger I must have, I'm even too weak to cr- more prisoners have arrived, the ragged lines of ragged gray, while over by the sector's factory skeletons are shuffling away.

I clutched the wire fence until my fingers bled, to show the guards I was not afraid of dying in this hell hole. they just shouted at me and shot at my feet, laughing when I fled. they fed us literally scraps that even a dying animal wouldn't touch; I know this for a fact, I saw a dying rat, and tried to feed it some of the "food" they give us, it didn't take it. instead it scurried off. i'm hoping that tomorrow will be better; that tomorrow we'll all be freed.

I heard the sound of gunfire at the prison's gate; are the liberators here? do I hope or do i fear?

-Taken from Rush's "Red sector A" some of the lyrics are thrown in, with a little side story i just thought of.