This man, he is free.
These are lies he’d deny,
Days he would replace,
Lines he’ll use again and again.
Smoke he does drag,
Dragons he has chased ,
Tears he has felt,
Rage he has purged
No colours brand new.

What has he done?
Does he deserve?

This man, he is free.
But cage means key,
Sealed inside a murky mind
Body old and spent.
So he does repeat
The same words he is free to speak,
Numb are my ears to his sound
All his pain is taken within me.

This man, he is free.
He feels not of constraint
Suffocation and spills are his life.
He chooses and does not think
At forty five he would never deny,
The strains of a colourful life.

This man, he is free.
For inside he has locked me,
A reflection for a heart,
I am silenced by his grief.
He does displaced onto me
The fact he is free.

My father is not free.
Nor never will be.
But in his mind
Acres of time
Have let him have his way.
When will he be free?
He says to me
Never, the tip of my tongue.
I will be free
When you so easily
Will lie in the earth,
Freedom with the dirt
My father, he will be free.