Between those prison walls, for a crime he never did. Much like his favourite tiger, in that zoo his father owned. Found a solace in those dark stinky walls inside. A respite from those dark stinky souls outside. He painted the ceiling, blue, that of a clear sky. And a corner of it, golden, that of the morning sun. He felt alive, for once. Free, inside a cage. Much unlike his favourite tiger, in that zoo his father owned. While the real convicts painted the town 'red' outside, he whiled his time away, painting his prison-walls blue. While those dark stinky souls sold people, tainted dreams, he lived his moments, amidst those painted dreams. Rants of a prisoner.