TROY
I live in the best place in the whole wide world.
Come with me, where the food is free.
Where the landlord never comes near you.
Be a guest in a house of rest, where the best of fellows can cheer you.
Everything is perfect. No responsibilities.
There's your own little room, so cool, not too much light.
Where you're one man for whom no wife waits up at night.
Honestly, I'd rather be there than in the world, with a job, wife, family, all of the things people strive for.
Some people call me a sick little fuck.
That's what I'd say about them.
When the day ends, you have lots of friends, who will guard you well while you slumber.
Safe from battle and stife, safe from the wind and gale.
Come with me to jail.
Being honest, I love jail. People think I'm weird, but I'd do anything to be there instead of in the real world.
And when I tell people, friends, psychologists, anyone about this, all they do is back away slowly.
But of course, mostly psychologists.
The jail warden wonders about me sometimes.
You'll never have to fetch the milk,
Or walk the dog at early dawn.
"Here again Troy?" He asked. His name was Pat Cloon. He had a wife and kids; he had exactly the kind of life I didn't want.
I smirked. "Always."
There was a man in the cell next to me. I was always in the same cell. The man next to me was in for drunk driving and killing some kid. His name was Timothy and he was a weird guy. I liked the guy that was in the cell next to me before better. But Tim was in for six months, so I was forced to get used to him.
There's no-'Get up, you're late for work!'
While you rest in the pearly dawn.
But it was the day I left jail that things fell apart.
My two month sentence was served, and I was taking a week to think about what I could do to get back in.
I walked into my house, and everything suddenly went dark.
I woke up in a strange, dimly lit room. It reminded me a bit of the jail I loved so well.
You're never bored by politics, you're privileged to miss a row.
Of tragedies by Sophocles, and diatribes by Cicero.
But it wasn't.
There were metal hooks going through my skin.
They pierced my sides, my arms, and they hurt like hell.
I tried to get away. I tried, but then I was told that I needed to escape from the chains or else a bomb would go off.
But what if I didn't want to escape the chains?
Not these chains, but the ones keeping me in jail.
I ripped the chains away, but the last one was in too deep, and I hear a ringing before everything went white.
I'd honestly rather be in jail.
A/N: Contrary to the way I've been updating, I'm still alive ;) This chapter is dedicated to Jason for having this song as an AMT solo, which I randomly started thinking of while watching Saw III, and then BOOM, this hit me!
Come With Me-Boys From Syracuse
(It's pronounced See-rah-cuse, by the way. Not Sarah-cuse...heh.)
