You began to take form, like a molton statue of gold

as your mind and your body, starts to mold

That sound…..the chisel of my soul

Can you hear the racket of metal shaping you

While the real you…..is still trapped inside, not knowing what to do

For fear of being alone….

so you decided to be a drone…

sucking your independence goodbye…dry…like a bone

That sound…..the chisel of my soul

Being shaped is so painful…when youre uncomfortable in your own skin

while you stand there trying to defend…your stance as a person

so for the sake of argument….you mend…youself to their will

Not wanting to fight, so you learn your new role….

cause now your troubled mind takes its toll….

as that one shread of dignity, that you have left…you try to hold….

CAN YOU HEAR IT?……THAT SOUND?…..

THAT IS THE CHISEL OF MY SOUL!