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May 2013
Theres a sickness inside
a false idea
that wants to be nursed
by the same hands thats wretched me from the truth
the truth
is my home

I could be locked into a room with mothers warm linen
clutching you around me
but theres the wild
as it was never strained from me
and it makes me want to overthrow
the comfort
the security of what is that was never materialized
I want free-free-free-dom
I can accept the discomfort
like wet clothes
holding me like a heavy hostage as I roam
I want freedom, I want mobility
because deep inside of me, I know the truth, without it needing to be performed
so much so that it haunts me
every time you kiss me
even in my dreams
dowsed in the warmth
struck with the urge to pull back from a burning flame
as it encircles around my soft flesh
my hard peircing soul
wants to run from the devils gold
so dont you l-l-l-ove me
love me love me
love me
I am free
but the bars of my heart strings push you aside
like a werewolf
my instinctual nature has me tied
in the wilderness
I go back and forth
on the roads that will bring me further from you
when I feel my dreams
consuming all that I see
Brea Brea
Written by
Brea Brea
585
   st64
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