Prison is Hell
Behind the walls where shadows fall,
A dark and heavy, looming wall,
Stands Fox Hill in the burning heat,
Where terror and despair defeat.
The Bahamas Department of Corrections lies
Beneath the bright Atlantic skies,
A place of grim and bitter fame,
Where "Fox Hell" is its rightful name.
To walk inside those rusted gates
Is meeting cold and brutal fates,
A nightmare real, a torment deep,
Where broken men are forced to weep.
The concrete floors, the sweltering air,
The stench of sorrow and despair,
No ocean breeze, no island grace,
Just darkness in a claustrophobic space.
The cells are crowded, tight and old,
With stories left forever untold,
The iron bars, the slop-bucket line,
Where human dignity declines.
The days drag on, the nights are long,
Where echoes rise of tragic song,
A world of fear, a world of pain,
Where hope is washed away like rain.
