So who ever birthed this version of
mans needing to blame another...
regrettably we seem to blame another...
but when it was stitched into the verse..
to many cooks cooking to many in verse..

But then he slipped in free will, will
he let us grow our own apples but
now he let us choke on our will
to eat what we sewed, then we said, but...

Shoved in the cold, but still our path
was pre-written, but his spelling missed its path.
Now who can sink and swim, I'm not a fish?
but now those pre-written, drowning food for fish.

I'm confused and insecure, that I'm but a string
that just pulled, now tie in this piece of string?
What I'm just tied in a story not of my own.
But then I unknotted myself my stories my own.

I found that a path isn't just one but a crossroads
of my design. How many paths are crossroads,
how many fall between dead ends I don't care,
my life is my own, no abandonment issues to care.

I'll eat every dam apple, I want to eat to be me,
sulk to my freedom of thought ill always be me.
I'll walk this collection of glances, and look up seeing
the universe clearly, it a life of chaos that I'm seeing.