Subtle melody,

Wrack my body. Let me see the Springtime's sunny day.
The wind was once my muse, but now my music's gone away.
Ease the sting of thumbscrews;
cut through weary moods of black and grey.
Where once fingers danced and called the wind,
now those hands can't hold a violin
aloft over my heretic's heart,
and broken fingers cannot play.

The wind will sing no pagan songs upon these broken strings.
Where once I was the prince,
now in sorrow, crown your king!
Fingers once waltzed with the wind,
but through jealous glances
of bitter men,
No song again is ever ushered in.
The sky will never sing
again.