If crying was

a way to get OUT sorrows,

(the likes that ACHE of melancholy ill,)

then

I would pour out tears 

through all life's morrows and
ALL the world would drown
in what I spill.

If screaming was a way to get out sorrows,

the likes than ache of melancholy ill,

then mine would fill the silence of all morrows

and blast away the tranquil sound of STILL.

And in me and my scream there would escape the

agony of sounds confined and chained

and things and feelings bound so long here, unfree,

would wing to where no longer I'm restrained.