The apes of the north are wrong
I discard my shield
polished to a mirror-shine
I discard my masks
Carved from darkened stone
I tear this fortress down
Too many flies are buzzing,
Beating against my window pane
There can be no walls between friends
No portcullis to pass
No moat to cross
No murder-holes of the mind
The winds of change must
Ruffle my hair
Be they storms of fury
Or breezes as light as your touch
Let rain or shine
Be as welcome
As your smile
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