What's she thinking? does she really believe
That shes above the creatures that work the dirt and the streets
See her up in the tree, looking down at you and me
Like she's chosen over those who walk around on two feet
The bird, the melodys she play
The music she make, rubbing our faces in the feces of the daybreak
Trying to remind us, its time to awake
Antaganizing and instigating my hate
The chirps, I turn them into screams
My feathered friends end will justity the means
Disturbed, I'll grab her by her beak
And swing her in circles untill she's too dizzy to speak
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My Interests
Stuff
I'd like to meet:
Nobody really? old friends
Music:
Jazz, punk rock, Classic rock, Hip hop, anything that sounds good.
