Symphony

August 29, 2008
By
Hands Tied back,
tied back in a symphony,
waiting on something more like an epiphany.
Waiting on that one true flaw
Where the colors are shown,
And the minds are blown.
Because nothing.
Ever goes.
Exactly how we want it to go.
And nothing.
Ever goes.
In the direction of that honesty.
Cause everyone, and everything are waiting to be brought down just one notch.
Our minds are free.
To be our own person, to be free, from the conformity.

But your hands on the door knob.
And turn it slowly, as if it was holy.
But your hands on the door knob and pray there is no Heaven.
Pray you're going to a dream.
Where everyone is free from the conformity.
And everything is fate.
Because there is no debate.
No democracy.
No government.
No president.
Nothing to hold us back.
Nothing to say no.

We don't need you.
Or anything having to do with you.
We need to be free.
We need to be our own.

Lock me up.
Away from the eyes.
Lock me up.
Away from the glares.
Lock me up.
Away from the stares.
And bring me back when they're gone.

The avoiding glares.
The suppressing stares.
And nothing.
Can hold me back.
From being who I want to be.

From Sharing my Honesty.


Nothing.

Can hold me back.

You can tie me up.
Tie me up in a symphony.
I'll just get another epiphany.
Waiting on the drugs
the slugs
the bug
to eat out the inside of the rotting creatures
Who tied me up.

Because, because this is my epiphany.
Everything is a symphony.





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