Rain on the canvas

What truly is freedom and how do we know when we have it?

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1. Rain on the canvas

 

All the sun was shining

Through the fragments of the rain

For there was colour in every drop

Previously taken in vain  

 

Though my skin is drenched

With the paint that drips from the brush

I have learnt the art of freedom

In the gliding wing of a thrush  

 

Suppression pierced the lungs

As a sigh seeped out in health

Yet I have learnt the art of freedom

Without the itching hands of wealth  

 

For the moonlight was so radiant 

My strength in fear fell weak

I have learnt the art of freedom

But not yet how to speak

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