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| Wings |
| Deliver me now from this unending field of sorrow and hate to a place where the birds are freed from this veil, which is partially transparent but still blinding them. A sickening fire in this unholy place burns, it burns, and eats us alive. Alive, free yet so imprisoned. The birds wings are closed sewn shut by invisible threads. And I need my wings, to open my mind. We get our wings when we die, and can't hardly fly. And I can't hardly fly, fly from this place of sorrow and hate. Shut up and stuffed to be fed to this "god". This god which hates more than you know. This god which has trapped us and torn off our wings. God isn't real but has become our leader. Why do we listen to someone who can't speak? He can't reach out and end this, he can't even see, he's blind and mute, and has no wings... |