Locked away in a tower, my voice is thrown into the wind. I'm standing by this stupid window, because freedom is a sin.
Enough of the darkness, I'm trapped inside my own life, skirts and formal dinners worse than bloodshed and knives.
Figuring out the future from a nonexistant past, looking for nothing but freedom amongst walls of ivory and glass.
Still not seeing, but I'm not the one whose blind, when you lock yourself up in worry, disappointment's what you'll find.
So another day came, and the walls faded once again to pink. Bowing to my mother and father, sanity stretched at the brink.
Not caring about what they thought, they could do as they pleased. I'm not some "fragile little girl" their sickness was my disease.
Caring too much about nothing really at all, locked away within walls, Winter Spring, Summer, and Fall.
Listening to the outside world through cracks in the ivory and glass, relishing the moments that're taken away before they could ever last.
I'm not fit to live a prisoner, my parents were my captors, watching, planning, always plotting, a gentle bunch of Raptors.
So I'll do away with these chains of lace, easily broken, but Impossibly strong, I'll do away with these chains of lace and prove them that they're wrong.
Here comes the future, black as always, voiceless murmurs through the countless hallways of my mind, I see, but I see nothing at all.
They don't understand, perceptive Illusionaries, thinking riches and power have it all.
Watching the sun set, greeting another guest. I didn't think he'd be any different than the rest. I screamed, we fought, just as all people do.
They came and showed me freedom, brighter and Impossibly true to itself, it dosen't lie, but we've got the world to lose.
We took our chances, letting the Fates choose.
Enough of this darkness, I think I'm awake, creating a bond that'd never, ever break.
So they came, and I went, I answered Freedom's call.
Over the wall of my prison, away from my captors, two and all.
This prison was solid, Impossibly lush, calling it by a name that makes most people blush.
Home, is a word, something I've lost, and now found. I felt always at home whenever they were around.
Chains of lace, broken with one swing, never a prisoner again, Winter, Summer, Fall or Spring.
I guess I should be thankful, because they took me away.
Out of the darkness, out of the curtain of suffocation.
Slashed through, though the blackness still exists, today.
So that's my story, written in a volley of thoughts. Mixed in with the vat of eternity, excreted by bowels, history rots.
It's not what happens around you, that make you what you are.
It's not the features outside, through blindness, arrows or a wicked scar.
It's not what people say, they'll end up with broken faces.
It's not where you've been, either, through the menagerie of places.
I figure what I'm trying to say is that I've finally gotten it right.
My purpose is to prove the world wrong, and that is why I still fight.