Freedom

Who will be the dreamer of my dreams?
For it is not I. Not now, not here
And who will sing my song?
When there are no words to bring
No sound to be made
Who will write my story?
With no paper to be found
And the ink run dry
Who will paint my picture?
When I am colourless; invisible
And there's nothing left to see?
And who will dance my rhythm?
When I am shackled, held in chains

But from the deths of my soul I cry
That I was surely made to fly
To soar; on high
To dream and to sing
To write and to paint
To dance my own dance
Set me free
So I can be me