These iron shackles clasp my wrists,
so very thick and rough.
They bind to chain which binds to you,
the ball – you're weight enough.

Their edges have been colored red
by blood at where they wore
away my skin from trying to
escape your darn allure.

They're locked up tight and Cupid ate
the key for lunch today
(he's always been a little weird).
I guess I'm here to stay.

You cannot wrench me from your side
you'd only twist the chains.
The more you try, the more you'll find
me next to you in pain.

Because of this I smile now,
and finally I see
these iron shackles clasping the
most beautiful of things.