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.