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What makes people unique? Their mind? Their past? Or what they create? What they can make with their own hands, With their own mind, With their own past. To have something that is truly, and only yours. To create something that is as real in your mind, As you are out of it. As if every idea was a small white bird, That you would watch fly away every morning, And fly back every nightfall. And what happens, When you put that bird in a cage. To be bound, To only be able to say every idea but once, And if you are alone that nightfall, Then no one else will ever know just how real that bird is.

What makes people unique? Their mind? Their past? Or what they create? What they can make with their own hands, With their own mind, With their own past. To have something that is truly, and only yours. To create something that is as real in your mind, As you are out of it. As if every idea was a small white bird, That you would watch fly away every morning, And fly back every nightfall. And what happens, When you put that bird in a cage. To be bound, To only be able to say every idea but once, And if you are alone that nightfall, Then no one else will ever know just how real that bird is.