PRISONER EXPRESS

The hour glass mocks me with every grain of sand; I can't believe my life is in their wicked hand. At times I sit and think; could this really be me? If I had done it different, right now where would I be? Still the grains fall one after another, having no compassion, not even for one's mother. And even though your youth it seems that you prolong, your soul inside grows old knowing there's something wrong. Not True