I hear your cry young gypsy. Your echoes fill my mind.
Your tales of olde, some yet untold, of lands you wish to find.
The open wings of peaceful dreams, they seem so far away.
Still bound from flight you curse the night
And mourn the break of day.
Chained behind an open door as tears caress your face,
Longing just to spread your wings, to fly in open space.
Above the trees, into the night, upon the winds you'd soar.
Your wings spread freely. Gracefully.
And bound from flight no more.
