Waiting for the bus

 Wings

 

1.There’s something outside these walls,

Been living in a village and it took its toll,

A luggage under my bed,

I didn’t choose this place, it’s killing me instead.

 

2.There’s something I can’t explain,

Must have been the weight of an imaginary chain,

Setting me free from prison

Of a thousand hands, must have been a legion.

 

3.There’s nothing quite like my wings,

They outweight all the imaginary things,

There’s nothing quite like these dreams,

Which rip tissue and tear ideas at their seams.