They wonder what goes on, can't see, even with glasses, thoughts of what I can and can't be, preach to be free from the masses. Even when we seek to be free from the damage, the world turns and dreams break, and hope like the plane who flies freely just crashes. Through the flames, my palm remains being the seat of the pilot, my notebook is like a shield to protect me in the heat of a riot. It's only right, my brightest thoughts thrive in the heart of the night, words like life are free..it's why I write.