i am the barn door that swings in the night
as the horse has bolted
as his hair stands up
as his frame is on fire
i am the writer
and i write you off
the wind catches our hopes
picks them up up into the air
where they can be free
your hopes are free
when will we see it??
when will our tired and torn dreams
catch that lonely flame
when will we all burn
when will our nights catch fire?
as i see the frightened and the stupid
i think of myself as superior
but i am the leader
who's too frightened and stupid to lead
i am the meek who wont come forward
i am the santa claus burning on the cross
i am my own flame
but i burn with no poison
i whimper
i rage
and i forget
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