its an irony how I'm supposed to be happy.
oh how i used to sleep to tight
through those countless brewing storms.
where the cold dug at my chest
and the wind's ghostly whispers.
the constant merciless barrage drops.
yet I was unharmed, and i slept and slumbered.
now theres this man made storm.
it had the power none other wield
it mocked at mother nature
for she knew she was stronger.
as it manifests the time to sleep
i tossed and turned in my humble bed
i cant be at peace with my head
and for that I'll weep.
for its impossible to overcome the former.
I'm shackled up hard.
I'm ashamed, I'm not my life's driver.
the storm is.
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