when the freedom of live has been taken away, there is always freedom of dreams.

Why would i die, without willing,
not in my war, to go over there.
Why would i kill, without knowing how,
some other living creature, to use the force.
Why would i cry, trying not to,
for someones pain, break myself.
Why would i live, without willing,
without knowing how, without trying to
DIE?

era il giorno ch'al sol si scoloraro per la pieta del suo factor i rai