Birdy Songs

Choices are what construct reality, and also what demolish reason.



My son has a gun

He took it for a run

Under the bright black sun

One night, just to have some fun


He gathered his friends

All caught up in their current trends

Ignored the chilling winds

What happened next depends


He was a good little boy

Never one to annoy

His name was Roy

Such a good little boy


He robbed a bank

Several ships he sank

Their bloody cries he drank

But let's be frank


Roy is very much dead

They got him in the head

Now it's all covered in red

Nothing more to be said


Life really is a funny thing

When your friends clip your little birdy wings

And your little birdy throat, so no more it sings

All these delicate things


Mean nothing in the light

If you only lose sight

From what exactly it is that's right

You'll go down with hardly a fight


Because to know right from wrong

You've had to be here all along

Watching through every year, short or long


To realize that absolutely anyone

Can sing a little birdy song







The End

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