The Wind Crys Freedom

against the immense triumph there is freedom shaped by the mire of fencing at its best most of life is but a test tragedy in its commodity we travels so far not to turn back now can't turn around when your hands to the plough I cry out for magic in the instant of your success crafted by the memory of your dear mainstream letting go of all noise we search for words the fighting is the hardest part with words apart we dig deeper then ever before so you shop at the diamond store with words to explore awe so much more