There were no sacred years
On which our future dreams were built,
With clear blue skies unstained by tears
And beauty’s blooms that did not wilt.
The halcyon days in which we dance
A frosted memory so clear,
In fields of joy and true romance
Where boundless hope lived free of fear.
Down gilded corridors we roam
And dress ourselves in falsehoods true,
A spider’s web we call our home
And hide our eyes from all we knew.