Somewhere upon a hill,
There is a man content with life.
A man whose strifes never cease
But still remains, unshaken,
In the eyes of a thousand liars.
This man will go neither here nor there,
Under the command of a babbling brute.
But deep within himself,
Beneath the layers of cordial, jovial thought,
There is a wounded animal,
Who would do anything to stay alive.
Afraid, on the brink of death,
But nevertheless,
Spurns the chains which death sought to keep him sealed.
He continues on
And continues just when the time seems wrong,
Turning things right,
And lifting voice into song.
"I sing of old haphazard ways,
And the time in youth I went astray.
Away the time did go,
But today, a new rooster crows."
And anytime he feels way,
He remembers his ever-changing song,
Which changes lyrics like seasons,
Which gives him reasons inside himself.
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