On the 17th of May, 1814: A decree was seeded for ages to come – and ushered in days of freedom par none.

What brings unity about?

Is it being devout to certain routes you think are about,
Being purer than the path others think about, being purer than yours,

When in fact they are nuts,
Too nuts to consider
That anything might be better,
Than being what, being considered by you to be true?

Or is it the shit that you thought to be wrong,
But somehow turned out to be true,
Those falsehoods you thought to be worse than puke,
On a morning after a bender that lasted for a full week,

The bleak outlook brought about,
By thinking supreme being is being supreme by standards set,
By standards so weak, last week seems new;
They tend to be, worse than last week was,

Even if last week was supreme,
The dream of freedom for all,
Dreamt by fathers of Nations like our very own,
Is easily lost if we sleep too long,

We might wake up in a sweat,
In a panic and dread.
Not remembering the dream so sweet,
That outshined any split second nightmare that seems to come,
As the alarm went off,
And you thought it was morning,

When you just forgot to set the time,
The time for an abrupt, wake up call comes at the worst time,
When the dream so sweet,
That lasted for hours of deep REM sleep,
Is put to an end, by a nightmare at night,
When the clock ticks tocks, and the alarm goes off,

At the wrong time.
What’s the right time to wake up,
When you want to go back to sleep,
To dream some more, of freedom for all?

Not least yourself. Freedom from being dealt,
A hand you cant choose, but have to play anyway,

Win, draw or lose,
The river that flops under the bridge,
Holds diamonds if the spades are put deep,
Where clubs holding the hearts of men,
Hold kings and queens and jacks of all trades,
As numbers running up all wanting to be aces,

The deck floating on it, holds all.

If the dream is a gamble, don’t you dare bet,
That a wet dream is achieved by being led,
To believe that a wet dream will not be achieved
If you let the dream die,

If you would, why?
Why would you?
Would you at all?

What would you do when you wake up,
And remembered a dream, but not what,
What planted the seed of the dream oh so wet,
The dreadful sweat of the morning at night,
Where morning was, hours away,

Don’t go to sleep, go to play,
Play with the thought,
Of achieving a dream oh so wet,
Of freedom for all,

What brings about unity?

The thought of being united, finding your tribe,
But in a global village, what is there to find?

Unity unmatched.

Plant the seeds to trees and branches and leaves,
Will blossom and bloom,
In autumn they fall, in spring they’re renewed.

But the village unites:
The leaves and trees, the fallen and fresh,
With the soil and the rest,

Three odd fellows holding a key,
Each on their own, following their own path down to a tee,
The tee hits off with a drive,
that drives them across the green,
Seemingly for miles.

On the 17th of May, 1814,
A parade was seeded for ages to come,
Once a year a parade is held,
By children, bands and drunken teens,

The dream of freedom for all,
Was achieved, for now.
A parade on April 9th, 1940,
Marched in half a decade of fear and despair,
For a land once ruled by traits we all share,

Half a decade of fear and despair,
Ended in seven decades of peace and prosperity,
And it may remain, – unless the dream of freedom for all,
Is traded for a fear of not sharing freedom with none but our own,

What brings about unity?
The thought of being united, finding your tribe,
But in a global village, what is there to find?

Unity unmatched,
In a global village,
the local matters – are what matter,

But the answer as to how and why,
The global village became so small,
As to be able to answer your dreams and plights,

The local individual with a global reach,
To a friend he or she never even will meet,
The generations past X and Z,
Have no letters left,

So they write their own,

In a place where freedom for all, is ruled and matched,
Outweighed and outlasted,
Only by the very dream of freedom for all,
That the local village seeded once,

Get it, pa?
The kids today are longing for,
Elders that look to the ideals they say they know,
But seem to see as something negotiable.

Freedom aint,

On May 17th 1814,
The men at Eidsvoll made a day that came to decree
The day for children to smile and laugh,
Not for the folly of patriotic pride to roar and thrive.

Get it, pa?
The kids are the future, let them roar. Let them thrive.
The three odd fellows that hit off with a drive,
All hold a key, all on their own path, down to a tee,
How do you know tradition isn’t started and kept,
But these, odd three fellows that happen to be kids?

Gratulerer med dagen, alle sammen. ??



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