Тренировка по Боксу (Агрессивный Флоу)

Doctor's log, October 3rd The patient is awake He's whispering to the walls again The padded walls are closing in, painting the room white I hear the scratching in the ceiling every single night The nurses walk by with a cynical stare They feeding me medicine, but I do not care I hide the pills right under the tip of my tongue I'm feeling like my oxygen is leaving my lung I'm talking to a shadow sitting in the corner He's telling me the weather's getting drastically warmer He said I gotta break out, formulate a plot Connect the invisible psychological dot The doctor comes in with a clipboard and pen Asking me how I am feeling again I stare in his eyes and I give him a smile And tell him I've been completely cured for a while Tick-tock, the pendulum swings Listen to the song that the lunatic sings Reality bending, the vision is blurred Trapped inside of the unspoken word Midnight strikes, the corridors are completely dead I pick the lock with a rusty piece of a thread I'm creeping down the hallway, avoiding the light A phantom navigating the perilous night I reach the front desk, grab the security keys My hands are shaking, weak in the knees But the shadow is whispering, pushing me forward Moving me carefully, deliberately toward The heavy glass doors leading out to the street I can almost feel the pavement under my feet I push through the exit, the air is so cold A totally different reality begins to unfold Am I finally free, or is it a trick? The psychological damage is incredibly thick