The story of a bird

I am a free bird, a true bird

Not an angry bird

Hiding my age,

Was born a year before

In broad daylight

My certificate lied in black and white.

I am a free bird, a true bird

Not a worried bird

Hiding notes in the banks,

Firing the hires here and there,

To become rich and important

On fast track, out of nowhere,

Lying to the diseased on the ill effects

Of pills I was designated to push,

Like a thief behind a bush.

I couldn’t be deadlier,

Mixing killers, in foods sold to mothers

Of new-borns

Or for some hormones secreted in porn...

I was a moron

Pecking on fruits worse than grass

Concealing facts, figures

To clients, to make my Donald duck fatter

A pack of rubbish to buy and sell

My wings were wired to a machine I could tell

I was living in a cage called helpless hell

My wings and feet, heavy with lie

I was unable to fly.

Until I broke my cell

With my beak, my wings, my claws

The shell cracked, I tried to fly, fell

Flat on the ground, hurt my jaws

My innate nature came back running to me

Light and feathery I glided with glee

I could hear me whistle and sing

From the mountains to the meadows

Flaunted my winsome wings

Sail in the blues, with my own little being.

Tough will be this honest wide world

I thought,

So what

I choose to be out of the poor rich herd

I know now I am not an angry bird

Not a worried bird

I am a bird of word

I am a free bird, a true bird.