I know why the caged bird swings. It's got no feathers. It has no wings. But its heart still wants to fly up high, among the clouds, among soft things.
I know why the caged bird sings. Wrought iron bars can’t cage in dreams. A voice still shimmers with glints and gleams even if the songs are dirges and requiems.
The swords have spoken... In the inside and the outside, I'm broken. In the mind the problems are pointy but outside they're larger and might destroy me.
So, still here, I'll be swinging. My forlorn melody I'll be singing. My voice will be ringing. And my soul will be stinging. Pity, party of one, I'll be bringing.
For I think I'm trapped; My childhood's kidnapped. There's no way out of this room of pendulums and pits... I'm restricted in this prison, I'm the abused, I'm the victim.
But, if only I’d stop to look around instead of weighing my own self down, I'd see eyes surround me, waiting for me to agree: The door is wide open. I'm already free.
