Greg Prince
2 min readJan 23, 2019


Tear down these walls.
Tear down inside.
Lines crossed and corrupt.
Cannot Hide.
Falls to pieces, fallen in grace, standing still in motion
my feelings are fried.

What does it mean?

Who do I count on?

So who do I confide?

Need something different, need it now.
But change isn’t coming.
Life’s getting sour.

Looking to the Wall,
going to rip a big hole,
even though I feel small.
Not going to reason anymore
with the doubt clouding over me like a film of gall.
Pull my soul out of the pit in my head.
Fill in the hole spinning with contention.
Make peace and accept.

Where do I hide?

Who stops the raping blindness?

So when to turn and face false pride?

Need to be someone’s hero, to provide.

Time to change, time to quit and begin again.
Fill me up and take my everything.
Give all away, let it out, on display, no doubts, moments gone,
wrapped up, all is dark, ready to fight.
How can I serve you seeking, no more reasons to fall behind.
Burning the thin paper facade of inner conceits,
no longer will we be denied.

Breaking out, breaking out, shedding skin,
I’ve eaten my face, thrown off disgrace and we claim our prize.
Suicide of depression — obliterate and rip up the feeling of down.

Burst with pleasure in a bubble.
Come up to earth, get grounded, feel real, coincide.
No longer out of sight.
Push over the line, we have the chance to walk side by side.
Hear the sound, unfold, arrive.

Beauty appears.
Can you feel it peaking out?
Breaks the husk, sheds into the light.
Don’t need another reason, purpose defined.

Open wings take to flight.

(Click here to watch me perform this song, poem, spoken word.)

For all those who search for release or the light. For all those who want to fight for life. To all searching for direction. To all those who need hope. To all breaking free of oppression. The time will come if you let it and seek it. Sometimes you must fight mentally and soulfully.



Greg Prince

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.