The birds, fly free;
The deer, roam free;
Human adults, are free;
But, see, love isn't for me.
Is this because of me?
What did I do wrong? You never make any sense!
Sometimes "sense" needs to be felt to be understood.
Falsehoods are justified by a self-appointed priesthood.
Alcohol and leather cooperate better than words would.
My love is reclusive, imprisoned, unfree,
My feelings are pensive, yet spread like the breadth of a tree.
Love isn't for me, don't you see?
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