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Access The workers who check our stats Thrice a day, Seven days a week Are quite careless, Apparently.
The man Who glanced at me through the glass Breathed heavily inside his suit And failed to see me Unlock the door to my prison And grab hold of his ID As he turned away.
I hid the ID card Under my hospital gown Until the other caretakers were gone And the lights went out.
Then, I made my move.
I stepped forth Out of my box That many others would soon meet their death in When I left, And felt my bare feet Make contact with the Cold, White-tiled floor.
I slunk forward Down the hall And approached the lab.
Biting my lip, I swiped the stolen ID And watched as the Door Hissed Open.
