Silence lives but only in my dreams.
Awake I'm called to the carpet all of my time.
I'm forced to explain all that I write, say or feel.
Why can't I let the poet just wither and die?
I only owe the answers to the trinity of God.
Not any man, woman or child.
And I should not waste the air because they tell me what I really mean.
And twist and turn my words with a smile.
Then I zone out as I listen and my backside starts to hurt.
While my mind draws inward and I druel upon my shirt.
Sometimes I'm not listening and they think they have control of me today.
Then I return when these butt holes go away.
I'm just a simpleman and I write simple songs.
Who has the right to take that away from me?
If someone is offendedd by what my songs will say.
Then please seal your lips and turn your eyes away.
I am tired of the beating, I'm too old and tired to scream.
And too old to let you steal my desires and my dreams.
If you want to encroch on my freedom of speech.
Then you can just bug off and don't you tread on me
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