Anaphora for the lucky us

There's this one song that all the prisoners are singing at the same time, spontaneously, a moment ago, while escaping, climbing the barbed fence of dreams and license plates and the cradle won't fall but maybe shudder and disappear or become a halo or a new word that means how it looks on the outside-- sigh no more. It has all the right connotations; it's lifting the lid of an old box of tapes in the basement you thought you had lost it in the 80s and there it is in the way again, your famous brand of sanity, your greatest joy is everything, to the extent of its overlapping with nothing or Malik waiting for me cinematically in that rambling night song of his that always makes me believe he's climbing tall invisible trees-- What stands between you and that feeling?