Jobb
La tour sombre
Like a viscious thorn
sprung from a beautiful flower
shadowing its surroundings
reaching towards the sky
trying to pierce the heaven
and inject its poison
woe fill up as the turnstile turns
with every beep at entry
a piece of your soul is forever lost
within a gloomy factory of stress
misery and oozing mischief
and in the end a tribute to mammon
while inside your conscience
is submerged into oblivion
immersed to avoid the foulness
only once you depart from the anguish
when fresh air hits the lungs
you feel your lifeforce revitalize
but something is out of order
person who entered isn't the same leaving
parts of the innerself is gone
slowly becoming less and less
the poison claiming its prize
as the spirit is weeping
Like a viscious thorn
sprung from a beautiful flower
shadowing its surroundings
reaching towards the sky
trying to pierce the heaven
and inject its poison
woe fill up as the turnstile turns
with every beep at entry
a piece of your soul is forever lost
within a gloomy factory of stress
misery and oozing mischief
and in the end a tribute to mammon
while inside your conscience
is submerged into oblivion
immersed to avoid the foulness
only once you depart from the anguish
when fresh air hits the lungs
you feel your lifeforce revitalize
but something is out of order
person who entered isn't the same leaving
parts of the innerself is gone
slowly becoming less and less
the poison claiming its prize
as the spirit is weeping
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