the trouble with freedom

And so there I sat, spat and stared

Sat right under the shadow, the shadow of an image I forfeited

Spat outta my mouth bitter litres; the bitterness of shame

Stared at the dream ; yes, the dream I gave up

But I just sat; sat, spat and stared.

But I just sat; sat, spat and stared

For I knew not why you were there

There where I once was; a place I once ruled

A place in which they mint; mint such greatness

And I stared at how ugly I looked; ugly outside the centre

I stared at how ugly I now looked

But unto me you stared back and spat

Spat not bitterness but scorn; the scorn of failure

The failure of a heroine; a heroine famous for failing

And thus I swore; to cry freedom I swore

To cry freedom I swore; to be that which I always was

And freedom you granted but I still sat, spat and stared

Sat on my big bum that only knew swinging and farting

Spat out the aftertaste of gossiping and backbiting

Stared at you as you said, "Buddy, that's the trouble with freedom;

you knoweth nay what to do with it"