Badump! Badump! Badump!
A little red bird screams its silent song.
Someone once took great care in sheltering it from the outside world,
Building a cage of bone, and twine, and gold,
Quite austere, but wonderful for a stranger to behold,
Yet the bird shrieks all day long,
Pressing its neck through gilded bars, so far as to dig into its flesh;
There's food for ages, but you can see its ribs through its chest.
It hasn't thought of resting its hoarse voice,
Of accepting its prison temporarily, as if it had a choice,
And letting its wounds heal, gathering up strength,
To then wreck its odious home with a thousand pecks.
