While knowing who’s imprisoned in this cell,
I cannot bear to hold the Jailer’s key;
Familiar is the pris’ner that there dwells:
That cruelly-punished wretch…that wretch is me.
For I have beaten welts into my flesh
And starved myself with meagre food and drink
With little dignity I have been left
As I push my poor soul near to the brink.
The pain that I inflict is ever more
Than any captor could enact as punishment
I am my own kept prisoner of war
And have too oft been whipped ‘til I repent.
Although I appear bound, it is my choice
To die in silence or to use my voice.
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