Far to long

For too long have I fiend the walk of the dead.
For too long have I spoke to my head.
For too long have I been tread upon.
Can I live again?
Can I see the light of the morning dawn?
will my eyes grow dim with the strain?
Will the Lord hold my head in a basket made of my friend?
Freedom is what it is just be prepared to fight again.
Thane to twain the roar of my mistakes
... it is all but fake,
the stain to refrain from the page,
an ink blot to stow the flow of my hippy polar roar...
wine to water or so they say...
the lord my soul to take;
a father knows better then his daughter

or so they say...