You can hear the alarm bells,
See the red flags.
You know this will ruin you,
And you walk in with eyes wide open
Nonetheless.

You try to justify it to the world,
To yourself.
It's the end of the road;
a sense of belonging, finally,
of having a purpose,
and you're tired.
So tired of wandering, searching,
Hoping.
Choking on the salt in the air, the sea an endless barren desert with no land in sight.
So when you hear the siren's call,
And you know it spells doom,
You answer it anyway.
At least it will be over.

Except it's not death you're heading towards, but not a life either,
You'd be called crazy
If there were anyone around.

You're tired, and this feels safe,
To fall sleep in a dungeon,
To drop your heavy defenses.
It's hard work keeping them up,
And you're tired.

There's no room for mistakes in chains.
Your hands can't move to sin.
You're clean, and good;
Your mind is light, free from worry
And planning.

Your eyes fall shut.
You don't dream.