March of the Barefooted

When Suns are young and we are born Not needing shoes to kick the womb A maze of mirrors, gates to the unknown Erects us tall blinding hearts with hopes... And we pretend we know the way Although there are so many lefts The rights are few, we change our shoes The thickness of the Soul.?..depending on the distance... "I close my eyes, my boots are tearing flesh alive I have to walk and cry for miles and miles There is no turning back, the lefts are few Straight forward? Bullets... Upward? An eagle and the sky... I fight a desert that's not mine to quench the thirst in few" A maze of foggy mirrors shatters rhythmically in echoes... And sons were young when blinded by uniforms and pride Their stolen boots walk now eternally......for miles and miles....