Yellow bird

My genius is locked in a cell,
In a winter of rancid decay.
Holding a bird like a spell,
With a heart that has turned away.

The yellow bird sings what is right,
She’s lost every shred of her shame.
Singing: joy is a trick of the sight,
And wisdom a cage for the lame.

Sing, victim of common-held views,
But tell me, what path will you take?
The wild dreams you’re destined to lose,
Or the storm till the views start to break?

Or maybe you’ll finally trace,
The silhouette trust leaves behind?
Or trade what your heart used to chase,
For the things that the eyes cannot find?

The yellow bird sings what is right,
She’s lost every shred of her shame.
Singing: joy is a trick of the sight,
And wisdom a cage for the lame.

The more that the falsehood feels real,
The louder the bird starts to cry.
While distant and cold as the steel,
The white crane is a flash in the sky.

The yellow bird sings what is right,
She’s lost every shred of her shame.
Singing: joy is a trick of the sight,
And wisdom a cage for the lame.