It's 1:30 in the morning
Someone says that snow is falling
It's beautiful outside
Come take a look he cried
Looking through the open window
Through the iron bars snow dances
In the searchlight overhead
In the blue night sky, he said

"Snow is freedom
It makes me feel like I am flying
As though the flakes are stationary
and I am flying up"

Worried that when morning comes
All the best snow will be gone
But smugglers don't play in the snow
Only the politicals would be that romantic
Making snowballs in the cold air
Tasting snowflakes on his tongue
Things he loved when he was young

Snow is freedom
It makes me feel like I am flying
As though the flakes are stationary
and I am flying up

There are those who spend their lives
Travelling the land and skies
But their minds are never free
Blind to everything they see
Something simple like the snow
Reminds him what he used to know
Though his body is in chains
Freedoms in his choice to change

Snow is freedom
It makes me feel like I am flying
As though the flakes are stationary
and I am flying up



Tracey Curtis, a deeply beautiful Welsh punk, wrote this wonderful song inspired by a poem by a Turkish prisoner of conscience.

I once damaged a truck by spraying a snowman with liquid nitrogen. Stupid trucker thought he could reverse into it with impunity because it was July. Ha!

In summer people at peace camps have sometimes flooded roads by blocking drains with stuff.