Quinni Mai

(This is actually an extended metaphor, send me a message if you want me to explain the thought process because it is a lot)

Listening from the back of a stone-brick chapel Sitting rigid, feeling the weight of ghostly shackles I'll ignore what long-gone phantoms are saying Because this is the closest place music is playing

The hall down the road is warm and welcoming But this frigid building is where I'm told to be "This is your home, there's nothing beyond here" Chain me to the ground, take advantage of my fear