The finches and sparrows build nests in my chimney
|
what remains of the small flightless birds that you failed to protect
|
|
but their yolk isn't easy in fact it's a drag
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as they're blowing through cornfields and mountains of rags
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all over the suburbs
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across the great lawns
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crop-dusting gardens all over this town
|
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but nobody cares when it gets in their hair
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it gets in their lungs as it floats through the air
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it gets in the food that they buy and prepare
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but nobody cares when it gets in their hair
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across the great chasms and schisms
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and the sudden aneurisms
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where the black ink will drip
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across the crespice of your
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eyes and your teeth
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are worth more than you can spare
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oh don't tell me that it just isn't fair
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don't speak about the cycles of life
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'cause your thoughts are so soft
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I could cut 'em with a spork or a bride's knife
|
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and the wine made our mouths too loose
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such a reckless choice of words
|
when you tell me that I'm too obstruce
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I just thought it was a kind of bird
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I just stood there not saying a word
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|
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Spare-Ohs
|
| Andrew Bird |
