The evils of exile

My heart is made ​​of words, 
if I do not write anything, 
I die so I guess my place .
My mind is the eternal words 
prison, twist and turn the words 
as they please. 
If you do not want to dance with snakes. 
No one can force it. 
Why does my mind sees the evils of 
where only one of the angels 
hand lead the blind. 

Everyone has a duty to preserve their own 
soul, hate it 
us a bottomless trap. 
I am writing yet, when the power 
is there, the words of endless road. 
Not that I still need to 
lie inside position, 
I do not want the evil inside me to swallow.