Through the Iron Maiden’s bars
I spy a fairyland, a place
where peace grows, seeded row by row
with roots of safety, soil of grace.
But Iron Maiden bids me stay,
she bars the path to enter in;
whispers how I don’t belong,
hints at defect deep within
so here I stop, with longing gaze,
aching for the scene I spy,
wanting Eden’s leafy rest,
believing Iron Maiden’s lie.