I tried freedom once.
The high was pretty good
But coming down was really hard.
It sticks to your insides, see.
And then your just lumbered
With the memory of it.
Like an unwanted acquaintance at a party
No matter where you turn, they are just there.
And the effects of freedom are like that... 
They're everywhere.
They get under your skin,
You sweat them from your pores
And they stink like stale perfume,
Following you around,
Your personal storm cloud
Always pouring rain on you.
Ever since I did it I have an ache
And I can't shift it, no matter what drug I take.
And taking more freedom won't help
Because after the ache is just worse.
I can't help but think that freedom
Makes everything worse.
Freedom seems to blind me
To that fact that I don't actually have it.
It's hard to get hold of, you know.
When you think you've got enough
You discover that you've only had a taster.
Even the man selling freedom, doesn't have it.
Freedom provision is just-in-time.
The shortages would cause queues 
And panic-buying
If they sold it at the supermarket.
So maybe I should just do without,
Like cold turkey. Go to rehab for freedom.
I'm told, getting off it can be liberating.

Voltaire, French writer and philosopher, was born today in 1694.

Quentin Crisp, English actor, raconteur and writer, died today in 1999.