Another man's Jailer
My fingers do not itch to write no more
the painful hands of distress at the peak of my shoulders.
I have forgotten to cry, now I hold a bolder, striking against the enemy,
untill they are piles of rocks or freshly made dunes, I will not stop retaliating.
I am now a mirror
but do not fear your judgement
because we are no much different, neither are...
the painful hands of distress at the peak of my shoulders.
I have forgotten to cry, now I hold a bolder, striking against the enemy,
untill they are piles of rocks or freshly made dunes, I will not stop retaliating.
I am now a mirror
but do not fear your judgement
because we are no much different, neither are...