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Your SoulThe fruit of the tree,Is like the heart of your soul,In days early light.
FreedomThere is no such thing as freedom.The world makes you it's slave.Everything builds up and crashes down on you like a big wave,silencing you underneath.Tossing and turning,scraping and burning,it holds you.Far down in the depths.Singing a song like a child at play,like a comfort zone made into a tune,I listen for whispers.The sound catching in my ears.Do we play the game or surrender?Time flies like a sloth,awaiting the next hour.To come and die a prisoner.When the gates open we hug on chance in the morning and are on our own at night.Run,hide,and scream your tears,for the day has lost it's memory.They stay silent,never to move or wake.The lights dim,fade,and die.People watch for a new beginning,but it will never come,for our curse strong.And holds.There is no such thing as freedom.
CompleteSinging a morning tune, the dove leaps off his perch and soars into the sky, free of all thought, of all limits, of all life.One feather extricates itself from the others, and twirls gracefully down into the sand. The time has come for war.For war over all the lands beyond the ocean, and all the sky that lies away north. It speaks to the people of the ground, and we listen and sing along too, glad to be free of our boundaries.But come what may, because the war must prevail, and over the thousand seas they will come parading down at me. At the world. At the whole of our little lives. Forever shall we see blackness, and forever shall we feel the pain.Our carelessness had blinded us on our own chosen path, and we can not stay put. We must jump into the air, yelling a battle cry, for the rest of the northern people to hear, for we are done, finished in our task of good and of the evil that is to come to us.So hear our pleas of sorrow, our doubts, and all of our guilt, for the world ha