Bit of a metaphor.
Through hallowed halls we drifted,
Eyes lifted
No sleep for the cruel,
Our beds are made of broken glass.
We walked
Silently, carefully,
Never sleeping,
Always weeping
In the underpass
They broke us in
We’d never rest again
On our beds of broken glass
Where the others were now lain
We cannot wait, we have to move
Avoiding those who have to prove
Their strength in hallowed halls,
Bouncing off the walls
Too tall
To be broken by delinquents.
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