I once had a spirit,
That would cry, Livid.
A soundless screamer,
A sleepless dreamer.
A cowardly warrior,
A body-less barrier.
A sharp taste of rum,
A native tongue.
When the soul spoke,
It took what it broke,
What it hated, what it provoked.
All the soul ever wanted,
Was a little bit of hope.
Procrastinating future for past would never come,
Holding back words from a native tongue.