When put into the chains of captivity
their freedom is diminished
their songs are crushed into dust
we’re only the wind can pick up their pleads
lost to the sight of nature
for what is life without flight
their wings are reduced to shadows
not a single breeze to stir their feathers
no sky to lift them up their feet
so they only cuddle up together side by side
never to stretch out to the wild
the ones who capture the birds
force them to sing a tune of obedience
but the birds decline
in a heavy cost they keep their mouths shut  
the bars between them are meant to seem safe
according to the capturers
but in the eyes of the birds they view it as prison
without information about time or place
they keep their beaks low to the ground
knowing that they are more than musicians
with their melodies growing bitter
despair is the only thing humming out their mouths

Anyone can rhyme
Or hum a melody
But to lay your guts out on the table
For everyone to see
That’s what art is
That’s the soul
That's hunger, pain, and glory
As the artist tells their story
Living your truth
And telling it straight
Is what sets some apart
The secret of the greats
Stop fumbling with that metre
Don’t fret over the rhyme
Pour your soul onto the paper
Pull the tears from our eyes