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. 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.
My mind can only depict a world that can only afflict.
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:
I'm more than my story. There's more to my glory. Can't I see? This prison I'm stuck in is only voluntary. I have to choose to be free.
This prison I’m stuck in is only voluntary. I have to choose to be free.
