I can feel freedom coming, but it doesn't know my name. 

I want to play in the crush of brown leaves of fall, but I don't think I know the game. 

I leave my words to hear like a bible, a fool with no passion.

My consequences are laced across my back,   freedom tattooed in bloody script.

Wondering if I should blame you for your kindness with this silent gift.

My freedom is a bitter pill, and my choices just widen our rift.

If a child from the stars fell in the water would she insist?

That I or my culture was like an apology with too many words and an unworthy gift.

The accusation is worse when freedom is at stake.

But then are not the slaves of man free when they sleep.

Ask me another day, for now; I dig my grave with a plow and a horse.

Me a man, them a slave.

The horse and the steel digging into the deepest water looking for the child who fell to earth.

Hoping to offer an apology.

 Freedom with conscious demands it. 

I don't claim to know why just.... Guilt I guess.