I've learned so much, yet grown so little
I've learned to be played like a finely tuned fiddle
My strings are adjusted, my wood finely polished
The only thing is, my individuality has been demolished
For I have learned about how I am supposed to be
But what is that? Is that music me?
My fiddle is no longer my own
For though I have learned, I have not grown
The music that pours from my plucked strings
Provides only what society sings
I should be an instrument played as an expression of joy!
Instead only others' tunes do my strings employ
Their music has overpowered my own
I wonder what I'd be if only I'd known
Known that my strings could sound music I'd created
Instead of the lies that have left my fiddle long sedated
I now know the songs of others
And that is good, for they are my brothers
But our songs should not be confused
The fire of our individuality cannot be diffused
For each man's music belongs solely to him
The fires of our songs light up a world so dim
For when we break out of society's mold
We unleash the power to warm a world gone cold
I have learned so much and grown a little
I look forward to growing more, just me and my fiddle

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