My spectacular prison

My prison is a place known all to well. It brings joy to some and holds terror for most. The air becomes heavy as I am forced to listen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was declared treason. the opportunities keep on getting cooler, but the techniques that are used have always been quite peculiar. I begin to ponder if it’s indirect torture, taking its course gradually over time. I wish that I could resurrect my euphoria, even so, I have to return annually and I have no choice but to keep this nostalgia. All I can think about upon entering those gates is my downfall. In spite of that, all I want to hear at the end of the year is a drumroll. I’m well aware that it’s true and good for me, however, it doesn’t hold a good tune, Oh how I wish it could have been a better melody.