Colorful sins are flying,
tied by strings are killing away.
Freedom of birds lay in air,
drifting blind and sailing away.
Piercing clouds thy cloth worn shreds,
loosing control with broken treads.
keep on flying till
feathers hit thy ground,
pull harder,
to turn the last moment around.
Sharp is vision,
but sharper is glass,
will slit a throat,
without an effort so fast.
What would you do if wings
were underneath your skin?
would you fly away
to thy deadliest sins?
Would you rather see,
or seek thy truth?
as somebody flies
another bird dies.