Buried in one-eyed dungeons where the walls
Stare out on other walls through window-panes,
A grinding mechanism squats and chains
Each arm and leg to slavish rituals,
The while monotonous privation hauls
Dark bodies to and fro down prison lanes
Where no soft light nor open door remains
To proffer freedom from such funerals.

The eye peering from out each socket there
Reflects a roving madman in a cave
Striving and straining to burst the stony shell:
The look makes every cell begin to glare,
The very walls to shudder and to rave,
As each grim puppet earns his bread in hell.