A man is born but free,
’till they wrap chains ’round he.
There’s God! His Will be done.
There’s the Law, a tyrant’s gun.
No sex before the vow.
Keep toiling, here and now!
A few plans to indulge,
for pocket’s barely bulge.
Now he’s spent; dull and gray,
thinkin’ ’bout good old days…
When he’s nothing but free,
’till they wrapped chains ’round he.