There are places that shine at night
Those are called homes
There are places that are never bright
Those are called tombs
So what does it mean
When I sit alone at home
Stranger to a light never shown?

There are people who think they have my back
They don't know where my back is located
Or that I'm impervious to the attacks
Because my stoic back is gold plated
And those that stand behind me
Feel free to chisel chunks
Pieces fall off me as their lives grow richer

There are bars that block my freedom
These are called cells
All the stars have mocked the kingdoms
Before they fell
There are things that last
And things that pass
Like broken glass on the grass

No freedom or friends
Or home to mend
My heart's broken parts
Sorrow ramparts
Guard my frantic mind
From your barbaric kind
Until I'm trapped with only people I love
I begin to hate myself
Because I love them so much
There are people I cannot touch