And the bird, he sang
to a rotting beat
behind missiles and prickles
and bombs thrown in the wind.

But the bird, he sang
to a lost melody
of the lack of humanity
who foreshadowed tragedy.

He whistled all he could
but the gun beat seemed to rule
and he sang to ignore,
to deny transition.

And the bird, he silenced.
The last bird flew away
up to the stars
where all the civilised remain.