sometimes a word emergesnout of the silent streamnthat runs beneath opinionnillusion of the waking dreamnwe are not what we seemnnsomething prevents me lookingnit must be for the bestnbut still the half-heard whispernreminds me that i've failed the testnto know your own unrestnni know a choice is comingnfor peace or honestynpour concrete on the footprintsnfrom everything that you might benlove will set you free