Chains

It was sort of sacred ground

Daily I'd push a boulder
Against gravity

From lower ground to hill top

Then to watch it shift, and fall back

And roll back down

But I continued

My labors didn't break me

I was shoved down in a hole

Covered in shit and fetid refuse

Made to be mute and in misery

You wanted complete control

Still, my love you're left confused

This disease that is lingering

Is my refusal to be on my knees

Now or ever

You cannot shame me

Or place the blame 

The same place

You cannot do what you please

I smile as you kick my face

Bleeding or wounded

Nothing you do

Can place me in chains

For I desire only my freedom

And my soul is free

"You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. " Albert Camus