By John Kidd

The stone-cold hand that grasps my heart,
hanging onto the life that I still have,
it holds me down crushing my hopes, my desires,
I just want it to let me go,
Let me free,
But it will not,
It holds me for I have sinned,
It holds me down to the earth so that I may not soar free,
So that I will forever live my life trapped inside my cell,
What was my sin?
To have been born?
I do not know,
Each day this hand gets tighter,
It refuses to let me enjoy this world I was born to,
It entraps me inside my thoughts, inside my mind,
It holds my heart in its iron grip and tells me I am worthless,
That I will never amount to anything,
It tames my arrogance and stops me believing,
Believing that there will be a better tomorrow,
For the future only holds pain for me,
And pain it shall bring,
I fashion this rope in hope,
Of release,
Of freedom,
So that I will not endure the suffering any longer,
As I feel the coarse rope tighten around my neck,
The hand grasps me tighter,
It does not want to let me go,
In life or death,
And as I step off my chair,
Plummet towards my salvation,
I think of my tale of woe and close my eyes.