What sort of person shall I be?
I am made of clay
To be molded in any way
So many things within
Make up the raw material that's me
What for do I aspire?
What do I desire?
Love for words, love for birds,
Love for trees and the seas
I'm so full of dreams!
Creative juices must flow
To flood conventions of long ago
Let the mind not build roadblocks
Time's hands run faster than clocks!
Apprehension, fear, I have to lose
At some point I have to choose
To live life as I know it
Or to die slowly, bit by bit
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