Only Three Days In Cell

Only three days in The Country’s Cell And one won’t any longer feel well: The Damned Bizarre with a Killing Smell, A place Tortoise loses help from shell, To be ringing in one’s ears Death’s Bell, Dwarfing other sounds with somber knell… Keen prayers for life to stones tell Or a song make of it helped by Snell And hopefully The Waxed Record sell But – Sorry - no success would it spell; For once I’d pandered to it and fell: All men aware our Cell is just Hell… Received Blows you don’t discuss nor tell!