Alex DeLarge

Its funny how the colors of the real
Only seem real when viddied on a screen.
Clamping lidlocks and straight jacket latches.
Bracing bitter bits of ultra violence.
The awful sickness whooshes up and holds
Me accountable for all that Ive done
And may yet do again, O my brothers
And only friends. Are my sad n sorry self
And the preying perverted prisoners
Not different?

Ive long suffered and you all want me to
Keep suffering. I will not pay you mind
For I will be free in a fortnights time.
Soon Ill be back home where it all began.
Right ready to tolchock and terrorize
Totally tear, torture, and terrify
Society. Its slightly so ever odd,
That is to say like a clockwork orange,
How other people lay eyes upon me
And then think I am somehow like they are.

Suddenly, in all my dizzied sickness
I notice the background music playing
Is quite a strangely familiar sound.
It was Ludwig Van, the 9th symphony
Fourth movement. I quickly begin to yell
Its a sin! and shove and shiver and shake
But to no avail. Leave it to us, boy.
The lead scientist calmly says to me.
Its not fair! with my eyes locked in madness
I screamed. By tomorrow youll be cured.
The scientist responds with a big smile.

The next day I wake from slumber reborn.
No longer the bold vicious hood you knew.
I am now the true and vaunted Christian.
I will turn the other cheek. Unable
To select wrong over right. Unable
To be anything but good. Unable
To listen to lovely lovely music.

I was cured alright.