I've been in captivity
My own mind a prison
Chained to misery I've often heard the tale
Of my sorrow...
Written in old pain
An awful shade
Of me; with portrait and frame
How, I do paint my darkest hour
What did I know of a tragedy
Some tasteless fantasy
The movies and paperback books
That so inspired me to love
Why do they lead me here
Where is my salvation
My unending sleep
Yet, I wake evermore to weep some more
At that painting of a younger me
That cloudy visage that meets its end
Again...
