Even though it was getting late
I'm a prisoner on the ground
With no one to stand around
People come and go
And I yell out with a moan
"Please help me
I need to be free"
But no one looks at me
For even one bit
Next thing I know
I start to get hit
I yell out loud
Out into the crowd
"Help me! Please!"
But they back away
And so I say,
"I don't have a disease!"
One moment later
The traitor comes out
And that's when I start to shout
"Traitor! Traitor! You betrayed me! Even when I was in need!"
But he just stayed still
And wouldn't move until
The guards push him away
And that's when he started to sway
Side to side he went
All the while looking content
I couldn't believe my eyes
Everything he told me were lies
I started to rise
To start to go
And wouldn't you know
He held me by the arm
Said, "I don't want to do you any harm."
The last thing I remembered
Was that he got dismembered.
I dont have a drawing but look up prisoner on ground with guards around
The grocer didn't notice the thieves enter until it was too late.
If you were playing the piano how did the vase get broken.
The police force still had no idea how they were going to enter the strange cottage without being seen.
Answer:
For many postmodern writers, the various disasters that occurred in the last half of the 20th century left a number of writers with a profound sense of paranoia. They also gave them an awareness of the possibility of utter disaster and apocalypse on the horizon.
Explanation:
