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In an army of one against the ancient Romans; stab, twist and pull.
Stab, twist and pull was developed to inflect the most physical pain before death.
Once, captured nobody survives the Roman army.
The army is approaching, due north in their wild and vicious pack, like wolves my father used to say.
No hiding place, I am as visible as the moon during a solar eclipse.

Chain up as a dog, my life is spared.
Slowly, crawling into voluntary solitary confinement and upholding my right to remain silent during the interrogation.
As the days passes, my inner being corrodes and vaporise into thin air.

The world is coming to an end, Romans are overthrown.
They have given up and now I am free to be and see.
Now, I'm a piece of rubbish and as useful as a grain of sand in a desert.
Why don't you just let me be?