Have you found that place I described to you, a place you once saw reflected in my eyes?
Have you forgiven yourself for seeing those things, do you choose to ignore them because of those around you?
What have they told you to make you so unwilling?
I remember how I killed the singing because other ears did not want to listen to it. I broke off a part of my own heart because they couldn't stand the sight of it beating.
All these people, they walk like the living dead through this part of my conscience, the part that stopped my growth such a long time ago and now I know. They are scared that I might suddenly lunge out at them, they are terrified of the natural highs I treasure in my consciousness, they are fearful of my resurrection from the grave they sought to bury me in.
The tombstone marks my passing into a new land; the scars on my hands mark the crucifixion of the victim and I am calling you from behind the clouds to embark. I am the songbird that sings in the light of morning.

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