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Three shots- freedom;I'm no longer the dumb prisoner of the past Neither the naive slave of the futureMy soul was full with orange coloured skiesAnd fragile, shining crystal butterflies; My mind, oh, my poorest mind,Like the Persian bazaar,Used to show the rarest and least common treasures known so far;My heart only used to know love and kindnessUntil it ran into terrible sadness,It crucially fought for the light, for the lifeAnd ended up in the darker afterlife;I can't do it; my body is covered with the names Of people I don't know,Blind and deaf, I don't know what reality is anymore;Shotgun of sweet memories,Give me your hand,Count to three...One...Two...Three...Pull the trigger...and fly,Fly in the holy freedom.