Someone. Spreading falsehoods in the dark. Leaving an unclean, guilty mark. About Jozeph K. One morning, no reason, no crime, they froze the clock, they stole his time. Arrested. Two men in the boardinghouse light, boots on the floor, courtesy like a knife. A search that turns the bedroom floor... into a trap you can't ignore. He asks the charge, they hold the line. They answer in impeccable form, so fine. The court is not a room you find— it seeps in, through the corridor of the mind. Under the skin. Without having done anything wrong! He was arrested! The charges unknown! The law is a ghost on a throne! The court is in no hurry to speak! Weeks turn to months, making him weak! That’s the sentence! That’s the air! Trapped Without having done anything wrong! The days go cold, the shadows creep. Through attics where the secrets sleep. Advocate Huld. Titorelli's hand. A labyrinth he can’t command. Every key that they provide... just locks another door inside. Priest. Cathedral. Wall. Stone. No verdict. Only bone. Waiting. (waiting) (waiting) Without having done anything wrong! He was arrested! Confounded and prone! The flesh is cut straight to the bone! The clock has run out of its breath! The shape of the sentence is death! That’s the verdict! That’s the air! (suffocate!) (nowhere!) Without having done anything wrong! At the desk. At the gate. The thread is tightening around his throat. He has no name. He has no coat. Still answering... The ghost.
