Lost in Transalation

There is a cell where love is bard,

And adoration has no writes,

A prisoner is praying for bale,

Starved for lust, seeking one byte,

Yet their crime makes them a boor,

Or so they like to make it seam,

For the truth is oh too suite,

As there is concealment in their storey,

Of the lover they did sleigh,

With a noose which they did titan,

Which entombed them in this sell,

So begin to count the daze,

As their emotions start to dual,

As parole will never heel,

The love they lost in Transalation…

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