Rope کے بول

One free end bound his ankles, also bound his knees He had left a trail of blood that led into the trees He lay beneath a broken branch face down in the grass No mason or bricklayer he, a trowel was in his ass They found spray paint in his sinus, cotton in his ears His cheeks showed little slugstyle tracks that dried there from his tears The morning that they found him dead the sun was shining bright It cast a shadow of the rope that he had tied so tight The shadow fell across the grass, across his filthy clothes It fell across the shit-caked pants he wore over his hose He lay beneath a broken branch face down in the grass No mason or bricklayer he, a trowel was in his ass