Mr. Caged Bird,
Why do you sing? Perched so very proudly on that lone pine swing.
Taking in the world through that thin slatted metal, hoping your next meal will arrive on schedule.
You never seem to mind that old newspaper flooring, the same headlines screaming the same old stories. Be sprinkled with your droppings you care not how deploring, you chirp the same song through the night into morning.
Stupid little bird.
Don’t you ever shut up? Singing and singing and singing, I mean, really, what the fuck?
Don’t you know you’re in jail?
How are you so jolly?
When’s the last time that you got some polly?
Not that it’s important, but understand what I mean? Three hots and a cot? Was that really your dream?
Are you really satisfied with living in that cage? A winged groundhog reliving the same day?
Come on little bird, you’ve got to wake up.
That man with the keys doesn’t give a motherfuck.
The system is a business designed to make you comfortable; ensuring all your needs are met, you don’t even have to work for them.
Then before you know it you’ve grown complacent and then dependent and when they let you out you’ll neglect your life’s commitments.
There’s no recidivism when there’s rehabilitation.
Keep that in mind during your next visitation.
Little boys and girls with three hour fathers
And it’s normal to them, does that not make you bothered?
You’ve got to want ore, for you and for yours
Unlock the potential hidden behind your mind’s doors
Don’t allow that cage to dictate who you can and cannot be,
Life is what you make it, even on plan C.
When it’s all said and done, thank of what you’ll leave behind
Don’t be the little bird that never learned to fly.
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