Thorn Cage

Little bird I hear your song
But where you are you don’t belong,
In a cage made of thorns where no roses bloom
Your song sways weak inside this room.

You are free to fly away
Far from the thorns that choke your beautiful voice
But you choose to stay, why such an odd choice?
Is it the blue bird within your cage?
With the song that also sways.
The one with the crying voice
That wishes for freedom; though doesn’t have the choice.

Clipped wings the blue bird has filling the room with a song so sad,
As you stand by watching the sorrow
Wondering, Waiting
Will his wings be healed tomorrow?

But what you don’t know is that he will never fly
He won’t be there next to you in the blue sky.
Where the sun’s warmth will wrap you
And the sky’s tears will soak you
As freedom flows under your wings
He will be trapped in that cage only to sit and sing.

So I wait for the day that you fly out of your cage
As the little blue bird sings you a song
A song of freedom
Because that’s where you belong.