A darkened heart in golden
     trim billows 'cross the sky,
Carried in its misted chest
     mem'ries too new to dry.

Lofted over, put from mind,
     sent to shadowed halls;
Kept at bay, kept from thought,
     stifled Sorrow calls....

Invite me in, lead me on,
     Force me to live without;
Done it before, do it again:
Conquer the shame,
     and guilt and doubt.

I'll be a martyr no more,
     A chess-piece no more.
This game you play?
     I've played it before.