a thousand birds fly into the sky
no one stops to ask them why
yet they fly without fear and without cause
they heed no warnings, they heed no laws
each bird has an end so clear
and though it may not be so near
things like the winds of fear
have no bearing on which way they steer
those birds fly through the skies of life
they fly through hate, they fly through strife
a perfect flight can never be had
the world is wicked, the world is mad
as time goes by their flight seems vain
for time distorts what people can’t explain
and it leaves a mark, a deep set stain
a flight that was freedom is now pain

one by one those flights are shot down
the shots heard from miles around
people today are no stranger to
the dreams that are dreamt by few
to the earth those birds still do fall
and along the plains they start to crawl
until they come across another wall
a field thick, a tower tall.

those birds of life have such power
to make sand out of that tower
they have such force, they have such drive
to achieve for which they strive
that the first wall is but sand
that can be worn away by hand
so that the flat land
lies again at their command

they go about their dull stark days
they think of all the wonderful ways
to make their life a tad less plain
to cure life’s great disdain
if only they hadn’t shot down that flight
if only they had put up more of a fight
perhaps their lives would be free from plight
and their dreams would still be alive tonight