Song Of The Birds
The song we are singing,
by Cat Ducat
The truth we long of hearing,
Cluttered by knaves to make a trap for fools.
Stepped on and crushed by haters and discriminators
Singing by dawn, ending by dusk
The footsteps still lying in the dust.
From what we were.
To who we are.
Freedom of expression has gone to far.
Killing and dying
living, and lying,
Is that what we have come to? Is that what we are?
Sounds like drunk people locked in a bar.
The world is crashing down,
We're losing our crown.
Our crown of humanity, locked in the rubble,
While hatred is on the double.
World's on lockdown, waiting for the sound
Of wrecking and sowing.
A new world on its ends
Leaning on its last dividends.
Humanity is lost, at a few people's cost,
Slowly locking love down,
And throwing down are crown.
The crown that we wore,
when humanity shown through,
Holding our minds, giving us proof,
Of what we were, showing us how to live,
As if we had, everything to give.
But now, if you see us now.
We've lost our touch,
of a proper bow. Listening to lies,
and hoping for the truth.
Hoping that the songs of birds
Will give us the words,
We'll sing our syllables,
Crushing those cynicals,
Leading our world to new ways,
Creating brighter and newer days,
Holding our tongues is where we stand now,
The songs of the birds are just as common as cows.
As if they aren't unique, Telling us to change,
Showing us there's something wrong, In the whole world's range.
Listening to fighting,
The birds try to sing,
Try to calm us all down
And let us breathe,
But the songs of the birds are drowned out,
By the constant sound of a shout.
Fighting is all we have left.
Animosity is all but the best.
We have no love,
We have no fears,
Only the sounds of hatred ring in our ears.