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every sole idea I conceive
my mind freaks out and I retrieve
the scruples give my frights a hand
and blows my idea like some sand
then the misery gives a call
in the darkness back I fall
chaos ensues with illusions on spree
makes me think that I m free
but I cant give my wings a flap
and that for sure is a trap
for the horizon where I can see
I surmise that no one is free
but I can see the shackles break
swift a mayhem it may make
then we can fly high with winds
void of feet tied with stings.
we can make some cosmic plans
and spread some thoughts that are sane.