We are free spirits with barely some soul.
We are those who martyrize, abuse, and run.
We light our ways and gather some friends;
screaming, yelling but never because of pain.
Fatigue is no more than a pause from our flow,
for it is continuity what gives us life and all.
Free spirits, that is how I call,
all of those who taste life with passion and no fear of the unknown.
Boiling blood runs through our veins,
with no more pressure than that that we inhale.
Stress, coma, open mouth and some folly,
why would we keep on living if we are so lonely?
It is the sensation of freedom,
as well as the illusion of fulfillment.
It is the desire for ecstasy and the thirst for autonomy.
It is the intrinsic search of a path and joy,
what gives us free spirits a reason for rolling.
We are free spirits with so many walls;
we are the only ones that achieve to see ourselves throughout the all.
We are the conscious adventurers,
the drunk liberators.
We are the wounded soldiers with many marks in our shoulders.
We carry some weight,
some unwanted and constricting pain.
We blur ourselves in-between our feelings and stress.
We cry, we hide, and suddenly expand.
Expand wide into shazam,
into that which is no more than a mere spasm.
We are the free spirits,
we are the only alive.
We are the scared, the wrecked, the ones with a smile.
We are those how get dirty.
Those who go crazy.
Finally we are those, who wave with no hurry.