Instead of crying upon my fate
I like to choose the way straight...
Freedom is a crushed cerebral cortex,
the silencing of human nature...
Can see the light
Shines on me so bright...
That tornado is not mine.
My defects are far more elegant...
I whisk away the dreams of days
gone far beyond my grasp...
We are followed by ghosts
They linger...
The sound of my voice
is an odd thing to hear...
Being the rebel I once was
my desire to fly across that water...
When using red on my canvas
why would you asume I'm angry...
It is so easy to get lost in a jungle.
Fallen trees, debris amongst many other weeds will...
Man calling for help
in the wilderness denies...
At the end of the day
it's me left with the pain...