I once thought music a joy of life,
Whose power has kept us ever fresh,
By polishing heavy chains,
That we ourselves have laid,
And to sweet memories shackled.
Rather, it is a key,
To a dark place within,
That unwilling hands cannot help but turn,
Wherein we find hostage youth;
To whom we have forbidden death,
And through great pain, left to witness,
Better days.
