I am left uninspired with nothing to say;
the cause of my feelings has been taken away.
What was once so exposed is now hidden down deep,
It lies in its dungeon simply waiting for sleep.
But sleep will not come, it tosses and turns,
trying to escape the pain that so burns.
Burn, bed of coals, in your soft glow of red,
burning and dying, yet never quite dead.
Something so strong, and wild and once free,
must now be shakled down deep inside me.
In spite of the torture, the pain, and the chains,
I can still feel it smiling, it simply will not be slain.
While shackled and bound and twisted about,
it still looks to gain freedom, for any way out.
But it's a danger to those upon whom it would live,
taking and taking, offering nothing to give.
What is purer must bind it and hold it quite fast,
and keep it secured until it's quiet at last.
The one who allowed it to grow, too must pay,
and the debt won't be finished until the last day.