Words are better spoken
Than behind the wall of white
The pencil so easily broken
By the dictators call to fight

And the men behind the blue screen
Can we rely on them?
They’re happy in their compartments
A shuffle at the speed of dead

I have seen what’s to come
In the world of typed defense
And I cannot go back there now
My cage can no longer be rent

But the horizon will rise with vanilla skies
That will draw us from our beds
Will they look around past the majesty of sound
Or wish they all were dead

I put my stock in the bluescreen
But was left with no return
Now I watch my freedom drift away
Now I watch my intstruments burn

I scraped my plate to the third estate
But found no freedom there
So I’ll play for my twin, a melody of blissful sin
For the first, they cannot win!

Third piece posted, met with some good reviews so far. Really appreciate any comments, with a little more work I'll be performing these live soon, so thanks a lot for the help!