Caught in the bristle toe
That has held me tight.
Can't move an inch,
Guess I'll just sit tight.
So many nights I've wasted,
Laying the ground work of hell.
No one cares or gives a damn
If I were to survive of go to hell.
I just plant the branches
That will cover the dead.
The smell will let them know
Where I have placed the dead.
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Love ya!
Jane