Soaring, banking, wheeling high;
O, in that dome of blue to fly.
Seeing lands both lush and dry;
Joy enough to make one cry.
Pinions of gold and a soul that sang.
Exuberant cries, in our ears they rang.
Hearing it gave my heart a pang;
So fierce and free, in the air they hang.
Like the eagle above me;
Flying high and free;
My soul, I foresee
Will soar with thee.
Freedom is the possession I value the most; and refuse to give up. If I 'm not free to do what I see as right; that what is the point in life?