It’s overrated, said a friend,

I do what I do,

When I want to.

No one cares if I live or die,

So honestly, tie me down if you will,

I’m ready for the kill.

Bring it on – I’m dependable,

Nigh ready to sell my soul,

For bondage.

It’s highly addictive,

Said another,

I can’t be bothered,

Trying to be this or that,

Get tied down to a city rat.

Making babies, changing diapers.

Leave me be to tread my own,

Even alone.

I’m addicted- to my freedom.
It’s what it is, for the haves

And the have-nots,

I love my freedom, I love it not.

The sun’s free to rise, to set,

The waves on the moon do rest,

Is the flower free to bloom when it will?

Is the body free to move at will?

The chains of freedom present

A weave of a choice heavy,

Responsibility, culpability,

One way or another,

Add to that, answerability.
So free or not, it’s a choice,

Designed to conceal a hidden format.

Freedom’s overrated my friend,

It’s not a song, tis not a ramble,

Tis a melody all your own,

Intricate or simple, must you hone alone.