You think your life is a bird and you’re leaving the coop
but your life is a building that smells like chicken soup

What’s a nest? “A bunch of sticks and feathers and shit”
Yours is made of concrete, wood and glass and you’re not done with it

You see, you see freedom as you flying, well beyond my sight
You’ll learn tired wings rest in a strange places far from home, every night

Those far away birds fight with squirrels for seeds 
Like you fight for an allowance
And I let you win, but that’s an easy dance 

Those far away birds make friends with rats and fend off even worse
Tired, wounded, scared, they bleed  
No one cares what they need
They’re alone, and can’t use a phone, and they don’t get a nurse 

But each day is new and so you take flight, and you avoid the fights with cats and rats and mean birds you think you’ve beaten 
Look down sometime, you’ll see there’s still a pile of broken dead birds who mistook a pane of glass for freedom

Grounded but you think the sky is yours, 
Surrounded, by a world of floors

I’m telling you the sky can be yours but you asked me ‘where’s the proof?’
That’s when I led you to the roof   

There you’ll see the sky
And that’s about the best way to see it, eye-to-eye

I know you heard, but didn’t ‘get’ every word I said.
But that’s what I said to your empty bed.