I walk this ground on frozen heels,
and through a forest of trees.
At night I hear your voice scream,
the sounds brings me to my knees.
No blanket to trap escaping heat,
nor veil to block the sun.
This place, this rythm, these echoed voice through time,
but thinking only of one.
Your eyes in front, but cannot see,
the vision of me is blurred.
A life of peace, of freedom of speech,
most certainly seems absurd.
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