iron birds
we have wings but we’re
sinking
sinking
we try to fly
but we’re only left with
dreaming
dreaming
we’re all the same
but we flock apart,
scheming
scheming
you can
never tell what we’re
thinking
thinking
and sometimes neither can we
black butterflies
lovely, but we’ve become
inverted
inverted
heavenward we flew
for answers, to feel
elated
elated
but we grew bitter
and burnt while we
waited
waited
not thinking of
the color, the life we
deserted
deserted
and it was the wasteland that made us free
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