The Clockwork Sparrow

The coil is cranked beneath a coat of feathered wire,
An open secret turning in the simple gears.
We lost our faith before we even built the fire,
Just catching hollow notes of artificial years.


Your key is on the shaft, my beak is wide for singing,
But in the place of silver, just a jagged screech.
A captive of the cogs, where apathy is clinging,
An age where sweet deception stays within our reach.

Припев
A clockwork sparrow on the cornice of the century,
I gather up the crumbs of fabricated tunes.
My songs are dry, caught in a verbal penitentiary,
A trinket for the minds that fade in afternoons.


A comic little gadget in a varnished wooden cage,
They teach us how to flutter on a heavy string.
A porcelain reflection on an imitation stage,
I count the hollow paces waiting for the ring.


Your key is on the shaft, my beak is wide for singing,
But in the place of silver, just a jagged screech.
A captive of the cogs, where apathy is clinging,
An age where sweet deception stays within our reach.

Припев
A clockwork sparrow on the cornice of the century,
I gather up the crumbs of fabricated tunes.
My songs are dry, caught in a verbal penitentiary,
A trinket for the minds that fade in afternoons.


There is no beating heart, just spirals made of steel,
The man who put me together never knew the way to feel.
And in this cheap bazaar of synthetic, plastic lust,
I'm the only honest thing — the sparrow you can trust.



Припев
A clockwork sparrow on the cornice of the century,
I gather up the crumbs of fabricated tunes.
My songs are dry, caught in a verbal penitentiary,
A trinket for the minds that fade in afternoons.


Turn the key.
The tension drops.
Silence.