[Intro]
A gaze that gauges the wind, and finds it’s never owned.
[Verse 1]
We chase gilded mirrors, vainglory dressed in borrowed gold,
Saying, “I control the tides, the room, the day,” while stubborn weather wears our souls thin.
We polish our cages with ambition, crave the crown that slips through our hands,
Epictetus speaks in the margins: some things are ours, some are not, and what remains?
[Pre-Chorus]
Desire for every voice to assent, a chorus that never ends, a fortress made of words we bend.
[Chorus]
Freedom wears no chain we never break, but bondage wears the mask we praise,
We weather storms we pretend we steer, and wonder who’s still steering anyway.
Some things are ours to guard, some doors stay shut by fate,
In the glare of universal yes, we learn the lesson: we cannot govern what we cannot govern.
[Verse 2]
Illusion is a weathered map, creased by rain of need and show,
We stand at the edge of certainty, shouting treaties with the wind to turn our way.
Cruda y sin adornos—the truth arrives bare, a ledger of what we hold and what holds us,
Desire to align all minds frays on the seam of what cannot be persuaded.
[Bridge]
If the storms insist, we learn to bend, not break the compass of our own heart,
To differentiate the edge of control from the shore of fate that won’t depart.
[Chorus]
Freedom wears no chain we never break, but bondage wears the mask we praise,
We weather storms we pretend we steer, and wonder who’s still steering anyway.
Some things are ours to guard, some doors stay shut by fate,
In the glare of universal yes, we learn the lesson: we cannot govern what we cannot govern.
[Outro]
So I speak with tempered voice, from frustration to sober, clear-eyed art,
Ownership and fate divided clean, the difference that remains when storms depart.
