We’re born into sin
Everyone's wicked
But we think nothing’s wrong
We don’t know we’re
Dying
without growing old

We may feel that we’re
In a meaningless life
But we push it away
We don’t let ourselves know we’re
Empty
without having been filled

The emptiness grows
And we try to avoid it
We fill ourselves up with all the wrong things
And we find ourselves
Bound

Halls drip all around me, halls wrought out of stone
Etched so from a mountain of malice and hate;
Like unto a grave, this room chilleth my bone –
Pursuing my soul to its perishing fate.

Why should I have lived, so to see this dark day?
Hell’s fire reached my home, for my heart, so to tear.
Eternally, cruel – nay! My soul cannot say!
Recalling what happened is too hard to bear.

This is a true story. It didn't quite happen this way, well, when we moved I tried to do ballet here before fencing, but it just didn't work, the dance schools here are... *shudders* I don't want to think about them. That's when I did fencing and then just today I started Irish Dance. It's good to be back, to be flying again. :P