Feeling the little twist of the stomach,
Tension in muscles that spark an idea,
I can do what I shouldn’t,
I can be what I would but,
The world keeps the chains.

All the chains tight, with the paths right,
I can see that I could free,
Myself and ride on my glorious talent tree,
Doing my bidding, building my city.

Between all the barriers, getting past the implants,
Healing a brain that was abused by ideas,
Forced open and closed, by high pitch,
I can only get so close to scratching that ich.

There is always a tension, be free or seizure,
When you feel that you’re herded like cattle,
Being human only when your hobbies unshackle.
There is so much work to be done,
If we want.

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