An Ugly Feather

Whispers of freedom are carried in the wind,
Torchering my solitude self,
All hope as burnt in fire,
I'm left to defend myself;
I was left alone to die,
To suffer and perish with an oath,
An oath of foretold freedom,
That's truth was merely cold;
I then look out the window,
Seeing glorious green,
Then i look behind me,
At the room so dark and grim;
I'm a dying ugly girl,
Unnoticed and afraid,
Always being corrected,
Why not go to the grave?
I'm useless and disappointing,
No one seems to care,
I'm just an ugly feather,
That will float downhill as well.