Morning comes with honoured waves,
visionless demons crowd the maze,
behind the fense is built what they call freedom,
but its nothing more than a place to start from,
as shaddows hang amist borrowed times,
we're still living free behind invisible lines.
While the lake seems full of crowning desire,
ashes still burn far beyond the mire,
and a willows tree-top cold and bare,
from the eye in the sky fixed upon its golden glare,
we're still drawing breaths to seek beyond,
all was empty before it belonged.
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