Figures of the mind, strings of thought were just art.Lines of thought, tied hands was only part.
Stopping the outside from connection before they start.
Bring ones soul from the deep as if pulling a large cart.
Screams of disgust and less troubles tore apart.
Emotion crumble, my feeling of the heart.
Broken left for dead, rushed aside,
Through the forest, left to run like a Hart.
Gone the desire to go on, no wind, no map, no chart.
Left at the airfield like Bogart.
