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where does the bird fly when it's wings are restricted prepared to fail yet hoping the best is yet to be inflicted roaming the earth for views yet to be earned soaring through time, the likes of which never been heard laughing in the face of danger those others are yet our bird sees behind their masks and far beyond the unseen sheds of tears longing to free them of their fears synonymous salty enrapturing sacks of sorrows stealing all the more of the tomorrows little bird's up and sees it all on their cruising wanting to stop and halt the bruising it's hopeless, isn't it? yet in the darkness a flickering light, some hope in pandora's box can be found somehow, helps to cope stunning eruptions of reminders of better days not to turn back to but to reform.
