I fly because I have no wings.
My dreams are never constant.
My hands sometimes have blood strewn across my fingers,
my head is sometimes a floatless blob.
To dream means that you care.
To ache means that you're free.
I see you.
You see me.
I try to fly high above the sky, and love with no conditions.
There is a storm coming, brethren, and it isn't seen with our naked eyes.
This disease starts with words, and then permeates are thoughts until all we see
I have awaken, my dears.
I see what most do not.
Confidence and love are given freely in disguise,
and there are more tests than plots.
A wise man tells me eagerly,
that I am a mirror,
I reflect what others want to see.
I am a darkened reflection, a transition lens, hoping for the best, guiding
Yet we fight proudly against a never-ending storm.
Will you rise?
Will you fight?
Take my hand, brothers and sisters,
and we shall lead on the battlefield of life.