A perch...
Nothing but a bird trapped in an endless flight,
A desolate desert passing below void of passion, void of life,
The springs of life have dried below, the plants of love have died.
Void of passion...
The small bird has always hated wind,
So granted he was cursed with the gift of flight.
Time and wear, wind and pain, slowly strip the feathers away,
Leaving spots of the skin bare...
The winds seem to grow, year after year,
The sunburned skin continues to tear,
Were the bird’s wings to give in, who would care?
Were the small weak bird to fall, who would care...
There is no longer any happiness to feed upon,
No more good feelings to fill the bird’s stomach of a soul.
Even if the bird had enough feeling left to weep,
There aren’t any tears left to cry...
No one can relate to the bird anymore,
Not that if they could, anyone would really care.
No one seems to notice the small bird,
But no one ever promised life to be fair...
The bird is tired of searching for purpose and love,
It’s wings completely torn.
The bird’s eyes scan the scorched earth one last time,
Hoping someone will see him and care...
The bird will soon die,
Having realized there is no one there.
If only the bird had been loved,
If only some one had cared...
All the bird had needed in life was love,
His many falling feathers symbolizing it’s tears,
If only someone had been a resting perch for the bird,
If only someone had cared...
Void of passion,
The bird’s flight comes to an end.
The unburied corpse left rotting on the desert floor,
Not that anyone cares...
A desolate desert passing below void of passion, void of life,
The springs of life have dried below, the plants of love have died.
Void of passion...
The small bird has always hated wind,
So granted he was cursed with the gift of flight.
Time and wear, wind and pain, slowly strip the feathers away,
Leaving spots of the skin bare...
The winds seem to grow, year after year,
The sunburned skin continues to tear,
Were the bird’s wings to give in, who would care?
Were the small weak bird to fall, who would care...
There is no longer any happiness to feed upon,
No more good feelings to fill the bird’s stomach of a soul.
Even if the bird had enough feeling left to weep,
There aren’t any tears left to cry...
No one can relate to the bird anymore,
Not that if they could, anyone would really care.
No one seems to notice the small bird,
But no one ever promised life to be fair...
The bird is tired of searching for purpose and love,
It’s wings completely torn.
The bird’s eyes scan the scorched earth one last time,
Hoping someone will see him and care...
The bird will soon die,
Having realized there is no one there.
If only the bird had been loved,
If only some one had cared...
All the bird had needed in life was love,
His many falling feathers symbolizing it’s tears,
If only someone had been a resting perch for the bird,
If only someone had cared...
Void of passion,
The bird’s flight comes to an end.
The unburied corpse left rotting on the desert floor,
Not that anyone cares...