With the swing of an angry hammer
We work to build a wall
And call it a sanctuary
But no fortress can protect us
From the tears and fears
That we carry within us
Our walls work against us
And all the angst is contained
And we end up living 
In the squalor of our imagination
But if we would choose
To swing a grateful hammer
And build bridges to new places
Then our thoughts could flow
Our tears water the pathways
And our fears escape our grasp
Then our imagination becomes
A source of power and beauty
Like a mustang given room to roam

Which hammer?

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