Flightless bird spreads blackened wings,
Rarely speaks but softly sings.
High above the painted boughs,
Wishing for love, waiting for now.
Songless bird opens crooked beak,
Can fly, but no places to peak.
Far below the painted boughs,
Wishing for love, waiting for now.
A croon, the tune of a heart
Whose ache with which it cannot part,
Flies far below the painted boughs,
Wanting a love, not waiting for now.
A flight, the path of a bird,
To whom a prettier sound has never been heard,
Flies high above the painted boughs,
Wanting a love, not waiting for now.