Pistolwhipped

Deep in the back of a meat packing plant
Dragged through the plastic curtains...
Eyes are glaring, fists are clenched,
This darkened room, this awful stench...

You're feeling the sanguineous hate
In their stares, as you despair
As if any answers you give will be lies
You know that you are going to die!

Before that they must make you talk
Bound to a chair, pulled by your hair
Feel a blow on the back of your neck
Making you lose your breath
Your neck snaps back
You open your eyes, the pain is quite harsh
Blood starts to flow from the open wound
They scream their demands!

You're pistolwhipped
the bludgeons fly, impacting your head