The Free

There your dreary fate
Lies in wait-
An apparation of destiny
There your soul, waxes cold
And you burn with futility
There your doves, die in droves
And your joys deepen in dependence
There-where your happiness
Begets itself in the dreams of another

Poor is the one whose freedom comes-
At the asking of another
Whose pleasure depends on the permission
Of a godless king
Worse for the wear, you dare to-
Call it fidelity
But you'll see, the free claim
Their crowns with the blood of their knees.