Stephen

Stuck inside, curtains closed,
Light filters in on your face.
And you hear his voice in his head,
Telling you to get up and go:

Get out into the world again,
Make a bet, take another chance,
Encouraging you to find it;
That perfect thing you used to know.

And you follow like a lamb
Stumbling to the slaughter,
Over high hills and dark roads,
Meeting those odd people like him.

But it isn't you being led to sacrifice,
It is him, and he waves his flag.
But the charge and the gore are equal:
The bull's charge into oblivion.

Horns, screams, blood, a thud,
Hooves thunder away in the night.
You climb the fence and run,
But by then it is too late to help.

You sit in the dark until morning,
His body lying by your side.
Not weeping, not yet,
Just numbed to your very core.

They fetch you, bring you home,
Sitting on the train staring out.
Watching the scenery pass
While time seems to stand still.

Open the door, walk in, slump down
On the ground, back to the door,
Weeping, finally letting it out.
Stuck, stuck inside again.