My home is hidden and built of the laughter of my enemies.
I've come a long way and am in need of fill.

Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing? 

My nest is empty.
None have come to admire what I've done and my feathers are split with proof.

Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing? 

The great distance between morning and night.
Above this green chaos, I'm decorated with burdens and blame. Can't you see?

Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing? 

A boy fell from his mother's arms. His father tipped the candlestick. Daylight turned into stoplights, where tears did spill on the lungs that did split. I escaped quickly through the plumes of smoke and reached the forest in time. I have cut all I can to build this tower of sin. Nothing is kept within for I am always protecting the boy; I lead him to walk across the desert where he can be everything. I shine with every hidden branch that I've bent and with every feather collected. Can you help me with this last trick? I need to show him.

Where can I take this little bird? His coat is tattered yet it glows with beads of blood and tears. Is this your heart, little bird? Why have you left it covered, under this cloak of bark? Your fight has blinded your body to your soul. This soul of wind and sun. Here you are, in this cage of dust and silence where the hands have stopped. Where do you want to go little boy? Shall we pull the branches apart and sing of how the rain feeds your flight? Can you fall, patiently, to the earth poised to welcome you home?