Sometimes what's special,
gets relegated,
to the horse's barn,
what's created
gets mutilated,
and left in pieces,
in someone's yard.
Sometimes you hate it,
Never can be free
of what's been subjugated,
and ashes replaces trees
which wasn't warranted
Salty water, storms bring.
The craze of the fleas
Silent ears to the pleas
of such dead mentality,
absence of emotions...
Welcome to humanity,
new born in its crib.
The holy father's sin
is our free will within,
and scabs continue to bleed
as continuous weeds
swallowing of seeds,
Once our dream perishes,
so too does our spirits.