| Your zone is behind the bars. You walk up and down, you lick the iron bars. They taste of rust, you swallow it. In the room you're barred in. You've learnt all coordinates by heart. Your zone is behind the bars, behind your bars.
In front of you I stand behind my own bars and rattle on the rods with my air pump. Your zone is behind the bars. Behind us stands the iron bar factory. Bars morphed into cages. Cages are prayed to and worshipped. Gods muddled confused. Your zone is behind the bars - behind your bars.
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