Whispers behind the bars,
if only there would be one.
Whispers to the stars,
if only one would be my son.
The Secrets hidden behind the face,
seperating fact fron fiction.
The lies twisting like a misplaced ace,
seperating one from the other.
If we could cleave them in two,
and only one would live.
life untwine never to be sewn.
One's nature lowered in a sieve.
Would it be the Prisoner?
Or would it be the Pioneer?

Ambition is hollow,
with foundations of guilt.
Plans wrote with sorrow,
to build cages to harrow.
Bars oneself in,
to keep themselves out.

Behind the mask
Lies two voices
One must ask
What set task
and which cask 
locked tight, yet never silent.

Was freedom sought in grand plans of what futures may hold, or was articulate schemes what caused us to wash upon a prison's shores? The glint of a lighthouse drifting us off course, like Daedalus' young.

Ties feel bind
so tightly woven
Steel trap mind
Pays in kind
Reasons for solace
lost way behind

An Anarchist and an Architect walks in a bar.
Orders a molotov cocktail.
A bright idea,
but not
quite

right...