Liberator

		Oh Liberty-- standard by twelve!
		To flee Travis and his paid band.
		Into the nebula, you delve,
		To escape his terminal hand.

		Boarded-- your stores have slowed you down.
		Your contingent gold is a thorn
		To prick your sails until you drown.
		By lackies, you're of your horde shorn.

		My stores were wisdom I once thought.
		Needed to learn the galaxy,
		But gold through which I would be taught
		Has left me chained by fallacy.

		To remain absolutely free,
		Truth's nugget (not the horde) is key.