Crafty people make the young ones whole
Altering their senses
Breaking their tears
Passion of undying wisdom makes the old man look unclean
Unclean as though he doesn't exist
The young ones still listen to the man speak
Speak the eulogy of Freedom
Admitting enough tension in his veins
Pumped with piss and vinegar
One more time the bell has struck
Waiting for the time to call him back
Which doesn't happen
No one can leave him
All he wants is more time
Time to think over what he has done
Their day in the sun
Where Freedom was spoken!
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