I once cuffed my hands, you see,
that I got rid of the key
so I may never be released.
You may ask, “Were you insane?
I assumed it would stop the pain
I otherwise inflict on myself.
Eventually, I forgot why I did this.
I now wanted to be free.
I searched everywhere, where did I miss?
I just could not find my key.
My friends thought I was being foolish.
My family could not bear the sight.
“Could you help me, sir?” “Oh…I wish.”
Could no one understand my plight?
“Could you help me?” I asked a thief.
He said, “Brother, my hands aren’t free.”
When I asked the parsons for relief,
they said, “Only Jesus may be your key.”
I went to a doctor, she made me wait
for hours… yet I left, broke and unconsoled.
I had enough and more on my plate.
But alas, I had neither hand to hold.
I asked my professors, who shot me looks.
But then they referred me a dozen books.
I went to a locksmith, he called the police.
They locked me up and refused to release.
“I don’t want to die like this,” I fell on a knee
and… out from my shirt’s pocket fell a key.
… now, how did it get there?