There are chains tying me to my desk.

You cant see them but I can.

In fact, I can feel them.

I can feel them tight around my neck,

Pulling me away from my soul.

They slowly drag me forward.

My grip on my freedom weakens as the as my nerves fade away.

The singin of birds fade away and become more distant than the way before.

Singing choirs cease to sing.

It's a dim light with no glimmer anymore.

I see no colors now and my muscles ache.

I move less, smell, less and feel less.

It's cold as I subdue to the pull of my death. 

My clattering and rebellious steps form the rhythm of a song.

My legs conform as I march in sync with the tempo and all the same misfornunates around me.
Dragged and dragged as we march.

THere is no point to resist.

We must march.

We must be confident when we march.

But instead our souls were left behind.