Subject of ridicule as I am
I shall not take you by the hand
I sit in this self-made cage;
A relic in a dying age.
My eyes betray my own tortured soul
But will not speak of what’s inside.
Oblivion is my only goal and
Behind high, invisible walls is where I hide.
I will not rest, or have will to sleep,
I won’t allow myself to weep
Or desire a return of time now past
From time that passed me by so fast.
Memory, that cruel and wicked thing;
Forces salted tears to sting.
Holding on to rage and pain,
I will not bear my soul again.