My wings are clipped. I cannot fly.
I’m lost in trust. A crust of dye.
Upon the surface of my heart that rusts alive.
Unreal the fog that clouds my eye.
My vision blurred by vicious lies.
My edge-pins in a world of fiction shrink to size.

The ground’s not sound. It starts to slide.
The hope once found is laid aside.
I’m not at all prepared for the coming cold of night.
Can’t lift my thoughts to conquer time.
Can’t put up with the rising tide.
The world still turns. Those words still burn against my pride.

How would it be if I’d believe?
Could I make my way to greet the sea?
How would I take it to be free?
If I bent the bars and tore down the seal?
What if I got myself some air to breathe?

A cooler wind inside my mind.
Peculiar thoughts with rules denied.
The seed is cast. I read the past. I’m changing sides.

David Zintl
David Zintl, Alexander Rudolph, Maurice Hüsni