Nine were normal, nine men doomed to die, but
The last odd: he used to laugh to himself,
When he put the cap on toothpaste bottles,
Or watch the temple in the geranium with dolls.
They used to load him up with opium,
And cigarettes, and load him up with chores,
To make him in their own, yanked his headphone's
Out when they were interrogating him.
They put a SWAT Team of psychiatrists,
On him when he came to an appointment,
Late with the hick-ups, laughing in their faces,
The laughter rises from his cell cold, dark.
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