What happened to the dreams. Where's the hope gone.
Like an old catchy tune lost through time, what happened to freedom's song.

Master, master, I call to life itself.
You left me with days long and hard.
Beat up, chained and shackled, counting the steels of being bared.
The biggest crime, being robbed of heart's wealth.

Built an empire on shaky grounds.
Now comes the storms in the distance,
Locked on my own in the center room. Hope the walls can stand the resistance.
Or whether I can find calm in the silence of dark sounds.

But what happened to me.
Holding on to all I have on a torn out Bible like my heart.
A stranger often in life's race to a quick death. Where do I find my start.
How do I see to a future with eyes that no longer see.

Fighting through my own existence and anxiety. A crushing sound in my head.
Alive for so many days but often sometimes inside I wake up dead.

Keeping the lights On in my head by the afternoon.
I were wrong to this many could say. Fearing mostly on a rising doom.

Taking a shotgun and bottle to sing through a song of sorrow.
Often seen down the chamber of the happiness I borrow.

History changing but stuck in the past. Try to move on.
Try to find the words of my song
And perhaps wake up besides a new dawn.

Still with the bit of hope I have left inside I could do more for I.
Rather than of me stuck in the past wondering why.

Than to be having black and white dreams. Painting through the dull to see a clearer picture.
Fighting with my minds eye to find it's details through a small feature.

So be the sun rises in the North, so shall where I'll point my heart to.
Where the sweet winds of freedom take the fallen leaves to,
shall I too go.

To such my freedom.