This place is not a home; It is merely a house In which my lions’ heart has the voice of a small mouse This isn’t four walls, a warm bed, and a fireplace It’s cold chains that bind me and bitterly laugh in my face I could leave a home, though I wouldn’t want to But I’m trapped in this house, with no doors to walk through
There’s a single window, but it’s too high And, though I can’t reach it, I jump and I try My fingers skim the ledge, but I can’t get a grip And as I fall, I see my freedom slip