In the Penal Colony (Franz Kafka - 1919: Remastered)

"Guilt is never to be doubted" The gears grind slow, they twist and turn, In the penal colony where the damned will burn. Steel and flesh meld into a scream, The machine carves judgments, etched into dreams. Under judgment’s shadow, the metal wakes, The condemned cry, but horror overtakes. Each line cut deep into skin, their sin, The ruthless device erasing what’s within. The sentence is written, unseen at first glance, But in their guts, it’s a fatal dance. The needle digs, revealing their crime, The prisoner fades, erased by time. Under judgment’s shadow, the metal wakes, The condemned cry, but horror overtakes. Each line cut deep into skin, their sin, The ruthless device erasing what’s within. "But the condemned man looked so submissively doglike that it seemed as if he might have been allowed to run free on the slopes and would only need to be whistled for when the execution was due to begin" The final sacrifice, the machine demands, Flesh torn, blood spills like sands. Mind shattered, soul unstrung, Silence reigns as the death bell is rung. Under judgment’s shadow, the metal wakes, The condemned cry, but horror overtakes. Each line cut deep into skin, their sin, The ruthless device erasing what’s within. Beneath iron wheels, justice coldly served, The mechanical judge, dark and unnerved. Bodies break, souls left to decay, And in the cold steel, lives fade away. Under judgment’s shadow, the metal wakes, The condemned cry, but horror overtakes. Each line cut deep into skin, their sin, The ruthless device erasing what’s within. "At this point, almost against his will, he looked at the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in his life. He could discover no sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the machine, the Officer had not. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes were open and looked as they had when he was alive, his gaze was calm and convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his forehead"