From the four pillars of the earth,
Soft sounds of comforting words are sailing,
Whispers of an assured fate too are heard,
That one day man shall be free, even from his own chains.
Mouths are loudly singing this tale,
Trumpets do echo this tiding,
Pencils are sketching this portrait,
And feathers do pen this dream.
But do you want to be free, to think with your own mind?
Do you want to see me free, whistling my own tune?
Do you really want this for us, freedom?
For our freedom is burning, right in our own insanity of chaotic philosophies.
Source