There is a bird in my chest,
with a song in her heart.
Oft she is a raven,
sometimes a lark.
She whistles from my rib cage all the day long,
Shaking my bones with her lofty song.
She chirps and chimes about freedom,
and a flight that is nigh
yet when I crack open my chest plate,
she refuses to fly.
She is perched abreast her percussion,
a beating bass line.
Though desperate to fly,
she won't leave her heart behind.
