Green inchworms, roses, gardens and gates;Shall this place decide my fate.The woe of Earth bestowed with me;Think of the word we call "free". A youthful innocence sings me sleep;Filled with sweet dreams of meek.A place we go, to dream, to grow;Storybooks we all shall know. Corrupt, you can be no more.Self-evident truths, you must explore;Embers from a newborn snow.A long expected, hidden foe. For it is us all, you see;that bear a weight consequently.We take, We run, a firm, tight grasp;Dear Brothers, please hold fast. Green inchworms, roses, gardens and gates;I will decide my fate.An Earth, a gift, for you, for me;For it is us, we will call you "free".