Everything i write
is about flowers and death
I think this is a sign
I want to be free

I can't take this boxed  in life
I want to run
Any chance i get

Fourty hours work in a hole
Is not who i am
I want to be in the wind

Flowers bloom with color
Their pedals flow through the breeze
Moving through and growing more life

I cannot have such a life
Therefore i want to run
But run to where?
The only solution i ever find

Is death
Death is the only freedom i know
But maybe I'll live
For the promise
That after this hell
We'll all be free
More then we can ever know