The scars that are left
The tears that are swept
The fears that are wept
For some, those are the treasures, for others those are the measures
And for the tether, those are the pleasures

Sensation of senses as my sensational sorrows
Sorrows that borrow and burrow within the senses of my existence
I wander to only launder
Enabled to plunder, disabled to squander the scars of the past
I look for the stars to char the fears of my scars

In the name of moving on, in the name of towing on
I hide behind the mask of this human cask
Hardened by the tricks of my trained mind
Burdened by he checks of my hurt heart
I hold on to this thread of life in fear and tear

Fear as my dear, so very dear fear, I fear
To fear I surrender, I meander to this commander, to whom I owe my plunder

Surrender and remember the splendor of surrender
Remember this lender of convenience of obedience
Obedience as my expedience, as my trance, my stance, my dance, a dance of compliance, an alliance

Alliance as compliance, as my only reliance
I obey and join the tethers that obey and repay
Repay is the only way to prey for another replay
For these pay for the cages of this system

Break the cages of custom, shake the barges of traditions that I accustom and speak the truth in between the teeth I have shut tight
Human has no religion, religion has human, I not be a legion to religion, for it is only a prison built by prisoners for prisoners, a misnomer

I wake up, not for a country nor under its coventry and to cleanup the hungry
I wake up, not for a flag, a slave tag nor for the bloodied rag it stands for or for the muddy blood it smears on the new blood, arises fear, pretends for and only attends to the great divide within
I wake up, not to accept or reject a color/colorless and to the color I dyed my eye with generations of dead, regenerating the undead
I wake up, not to a culture, for every culture is a vulture that feeds on the caricature of this self imposed torture

I live not for the body, for it is only gaudy and shoddy
I let not the pain, bide me, pleasure, abide me, guide me, for both are the dreads of the same thread

Stand up not to change another and to look at my tether to the other
Support not this tether to another, for it only creates an unpleasant weather
Fear not to change the weather and I be the storm within the storm that breaks up the norm called thunderstorm

For the rain that falls is not in vain, it is the very vein that carries beyond the charismatic mundane
It is the very rein of this new reign, sows the seed of self renewing grain, again and again

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