He has in one corner
His dull guillotine,
That he blunts daily,
To a debilitating sheen.
In another corner lay
Shackles and thick chains,
Binding and dragging
Their disheartened claims.
Yet another of is toys
Is the shifting rack,
Stretching, yanking,
The wracking breaks the back.
In the final corner
We find the red-hot flame,
It sears, it scorches, scars,
Draws the signs of shame.
And in the very center falls,
the boulder that stifles all calls. Ω
