Get Free (single from DigiPhenom)

by Desdamona

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released June 22, 2013

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Desdamona Minneapolis, Minnesota

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Track Name: Get Free (Produced by Big Jess Scratches by Nimo the Hooligan)
Gotta get free, gotta get free (repeats)

My hand is righteous - My heart is pure
My tongue yearns to burn, uncurl
I’m just a girl with grace ripped from under her feet
Imperfect perfection of me - Riddled with the joke of disease
They appease me by speaking of my gracious tendencies
But they don’t know the rest of me
They don’t know the truth of me

The vivid refutation of my soul’s seduction
Constructive deconstruction of the structure
Punctures pure epiphanies – liberates & confuses me
Raptured, captured and mastered past the faster

Disasters that plaster broadcasters - virtual dream schemes
I’ve been weaned from love --- Turned mean
It’s become much too much for me to breath
I am autumn so I leave traces of me on the breeze

Sleeves of peace weave in the worst and best of me
To leave slim slices of what I used to be
Never realizing my capacity – these drafts of me
Clones who seek to become the me they’ll never be

I reach, stretching – difficulty
Tearing limbs from me - Filling to the brim of me
Never feeling free - What is this I seek?
Complicated imagery – got my subconscious tweaked

To the point where I can’t tell if I’m awake or sleep
My insecurities – the wounds are steep
Never wanted to fit it - I sneak around peaks
of accepted, assimilated beings

Trying to decipher what they might be seeing
Blinded by the light and bleeding -Nature’s cure abandoned me
Can’t find a way back to original being
can’t find a way back to original me

Time creeps slowly forward – faster
There is no happily ever after
It’s all a dream turned into disaster
Attempt to master the cycle – circle inside me

I realize ----
I see the dim light ----
Knowledge has kept me from being free
And I gotta get free

Gotta get free-Gotta get free (repeats)

My hand is righteous - My heart is pure
My tongue yearns to burn, uncurl
I’m just a girl with grace ripped from under her feet
Imperfect perfection of me - Riddled with the joke of disease
They appease me by speaking of my gracious tendencies
But they don’t know the rest of me
They don’t know the truth of me