Sometimes I feel like a bird
with a broken wing,
standing on the concrete boulevard
of broken dreams
where cars are roaming by,
with loud noises every where.
You could say that danger lives there,
along with a million ways to die,
although no one really cares.
They stop a second to stare,
poor, poor bird, they say...
No bush or shelter
where he can hide,
he just crashed and broke
on the asphalt open wide.
Scared and petrified,
he can’t run or flee, he could only fly...
Sometimes I feel like a bird with a broken wing,
I fell once then I stood to die....