Perched upon a lofty steeple,
A bird doth sing, a songbird cries
And when the songbird sees the people,
Whose voices ring, the songbird flies.
Around we go, away from heav’n -
We’re always spinning, always thinking
Though evils not we know but seven,
We’re never winning, always sinking.
Far below this lofty steeple,
People weep, who have no home
And far behind this wand’rer, people
Always sleep, or always roam.
What’s the answer? What’s the question?
What we know, we know from lies
People flock, they seek regression
Far below, while songbird flies.
Innocence is often sweet
For little kids with much to bear,
But life is anything but neat
And knowledge bids an open ear.
No life is perfect – none are full
For moments steal, with nothing done,
But people with no weight to pull
Have nothing real, have nothing won.