Freedom

 
I feel like writing something, I haven’t done it yet
This week, this month, this second seems right to run my set
Of overwhelming feelings that make this whole thing melt
And dealt by angry people who felt it as it went
Through hearts like fear, like Cupid eye-cornering a gent
Then shot him down and gently put flowers in his belt;

No explanation really to why I keep this up
And turn my lust in music and all this hate in hope
No dope required only a lonely soul and rope
To tie my hands together and put them back to work
Like work would help, like writing would make my heart elope
And draw more recognition that Vatican’s Big Pope.

But I restore my heartbeat and turn my head around
To find myself, and lyrics start rushing through like sand
That to your eyes gives beauty and to your ears gives sound
And music; just a listen if you would give, the ground
From under you’d be shaking, and all those up will drown
In waters of harmonics that I’d be freeing down.

So I will give my pencil another go, to run
And build another giant to wave my flag and stunt
And give my name a meaning, and to you all a gun
To put inside your mouths and finish with this con
And draw an end, so maybe once all of us are gone
Another world will blossom and live under this sun.

A foolish dream’s what keeps me alive, and all I wrote
Has filled those heads with music and all those hearts with hope
And when they speak of music, it will be me to quote
And vote, and grade, as nothing can overcome my word;
And if I’m left with nothing and locked inside a vault
I wouldn’t care or fight it, but write ‘till I turn cold.