| turning_footsteps | ||
| daf |
It's hard not to notice walking down the street the precisely neat geometry As I pass by what stops my eye are the stunted people too ster-ile and oh, so blue But for these eyes who's wept for you? It isn't but a step away outside the lines From crypt-cold rooms workstation tombs into the warm sunshine Still, it seems like miles Seems like miles and miles to go but do we even know? Even ponder what awaits beyond this empty plate? Could we know that fate if we felt its surety? Turning footsteps are drawn by primal dreams Will the morning ever dawn on our waking hours? Will we feel its power and know that we are free? Will the walls of our delusion liberate our liberty by pressing down too long? Do the weak become the strong when blessed with open eyes? Will we feed our open eyes at all? |
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