We are all only pieces of existence
Reaching out
Showing our resistance
Like ropes on anchors
And our dreams are like trees in the forest
Cut down and hued into beams
Swayed by the wind, in the attics of churches, houses, and barns
Or built into bridges, which cross over streams for people to walk on
Like a sheet of metal our hearts are being bent
Over and over again on themselves
This next time could be the end
But we hold on
And with our last attempt to let go, we find out we've been nailed down
Into beams of wood
The sun beats down on us
And the rain runs off of us
The rust starts to form
And we start to decay
All we have left is our voice
All you have left is your voice
No one can take your voice