Freedom
Those bells toll nothing but the echo in the drench
It resonates with misty morning street
Freedom’s a paper someone left on a wet bench
Although the freedom term is surely obsolete
Aren’t we too busy with the circus fighting of
The artificial and natural intelligence
I’m standing for the latter, sending love
Although I know you can’t receive my messages
Despite of this, a revelation comes to me
I feel your presence in a way I can’t describe
But in the evening the same picture I can see
My freedom smiles at me, it has your loving eyes.
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