To listen or to be heard: that is the question
To bite the tip of the tongue and dwell in silence, may it be of worth?
The humiliation and mocking of speaking ones mind is unbearable
Or to be trampled like a trail which lies in ignored silence
And to speak? To live a life of muted meldoy
Now hushed the voice which resonated will forever be soundless
When bounded, the tenor will struggle and rage
There’s nothing that can control it; it’s an unstoppable force
The sonance becomes a roar
For who wouldn’t fall apart under constant oppression?
The face of control will be brought down, the voice will be heard
The restriction of gagged tyranny, the harmony of calamity
The overbearance of control and the deaf
The thirsty vocalist of the stolen song
When he himself might int interrupt his own melody
With a confined silence?