I dwell as though a sparrow among spires,

Faint, as that of falling dew, in evercansent puddles,  

To me your words lose power, rules set out before my time

I refuse to be fragile as that of a spider’s web,

my lips shall not be stained darling shades of pink,

but rather by the cries of war,

My eyes, bright, as blazing stars, yet

my soul is subdue under leaden weights,

Identity will not be the blade against my neck,