There's a time, when I want to write
but I have nothing to write
When I want to speak
and there's nothing to speak
when I want to talk
yet with no one to talk with
and when I want to think
but there's nothing to think of
like wanting to live
and there's nothing to live for.
Nothing's constant but change- they say
but it's hard to change the way you want
like wanting to fly free
but it's hard to fly against the wind
like wanting to swim free
but can't go against the current
like wanting to live free
but it's hard to live against your fate
We spend our lives against our deeds,
against our rights, against our wants, against our will.
are we really living? or merely existing?
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