Hot ****!
The Bluebird wants out again!
I am tough enough for it.
But only just.
He wants out, but can't.
Meanwhile, his beak tears a hole.

Sears into my flesh.
Bleeds a little, but thats OK.
It reminds me that I'm not.
It reminds me I gotta run.

Pump my legs out of this place!
To chase the dreams they sold me
"You'd be a leader, just you wait to get your degree.
BAM! ZAAM! KABLAAM!
Labs and companies will be groveling at your feet!"

What *******...
They spoon-fed me, like a child off the ****.
For FOUR. AND. A. HALF. YEARS!!!
I swallowed the lies like a baby lamb
With a glint on my eye, wasting my time
I believed they'd make me a man
No need to go and try, they'll take charge on that.

But the world is a cold, brick, wall.
And you crash into it as soon as you cross the door.
You break your nose, bleed a touch.
Now it's time to crack it back into form!

Ouch! Ow! It hurts! It smarts!
But it's good for ya kid!
It'll do ya right!
You can't look forward with that crooked thing blocking your sight!
So yank it straight! Get off off your **!

Dreams ain't something you'll find on a market stall.
You can't buy them, they ain't sold.
But you can make them on a workshop.
A table, a shed, behind garage doors.
Behind a computer, even a phone!
They are made with sweat and blood.
And time...


Better spend that chasing them
Than to waste it
listening to someone pump them into head.

Again I feel a yearning.
This fire in my gut.
Again I feel a yearning,
to free myself from this bog.

It burns, like a wildfire.
Sending upwards plumes of smoke.
It shines, like raining starfire.
Pouring from the sky amongst the oaks.

My feet are heavy.
Anchored by fear and regret.
Heresy against the dogma.
That I should love myself above all else.

My dreams are magnetic.
Seeking to rejoin eachtime they shatter.
They know nothing of defeat or sorrow.
Living to them, is all that matters.

Marching to an invisible rhythm.
Listening to a tune, all of their own.
My ambition and drive move forward.
Into the pitiless night beyond.

Maybe they seek redemption.
Or to end it all devoured by the beast that prowls the dark.
Maybe, they have no other choice;
but to march, and march, and march...

Was I to turn to my side
Walking under moonlight
Would I see you there?
Matching my step?

No.
For you are gone,
You left without a word
after saying too much.

Was I to turn to my back
Walking by the streetlights
Would you be following me?
As in days gone by you did?

No.
For you have banished.
A body displaced, that casts
echoes in the depths of my brain.

And what would I see?
Heading into a tomorrow
punctured in waning sunlight
When I turn my step?
When I look ahead?

Nothing.
But shadows dancing
In your image, with your name
And cold stones as poles
of a merry-go-round.