They say that freedom is a phantom

illusion, like myths about the older Gods.

That every thought that seems so random

Is but a construct of the higher sods.


That’s maybe true. We have a crappy system,

Where voices step on top each other,

in vigorous attempt to preach the wisdom

that should be spoken only by our father.


It doesn’t matter, really, if I am at peace

with who I am and wanting out of life.

The voices – they simply fade and cease

to be the guiding force and source of strife.


As long as I am able to smell pines,

and walk bare foot along the silky grass,

I will not complicate the simple guidelines

to happiness and freedom that will last.


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