Key-chained, immobilized like a knee-sprained.
Link by link, you’re trying to think and think,
how do you keep thoughts linked?
Hanging there in air, no appeals, you’re suspended by air.
A key to unlock, a thought to unblock, key’s meant for a lock.
The lock is making a jeer, you’re afraid to make people cheer.
Turn yourself around, a round until smiles abound.
Staying sound, while wind refuses to move you around,
instead it pressures a windmill round. You’re hanging above ground,
too high, you’ve got no land to till. You’ll wait until the struggle is real,
when the mill is unfilled, struggling against Winter’s pill, all because you refused to refill...