The shackles were like hands cold as black ice
Holding me in its steel prisoning grip
For I had been cast away more than twice
The floors were icy in hell I would slip
My story began with the seed of lust
The feeling, the rush was none to be known
For I craved the feeling, have it I must
The path would crumble it was made of stone
And I danced so hard it began to chip
It was dark there without the lights to shine
The angles they found me, my wings they clip
Because of a girl that was never mine
I sat in hells cell and there I would rot
I never regretted the lesson taught