If thy could have any heavenly wish of love,
It’d be for wings that fly past the clouds above,
With feathers that stick to thy back like gloves.
Thy would show great amounts of authentic glee,
To have been able to float high enough to look down on any tree,
And to finally be able to say that thy is free.
But when thy daydreams of such beautiful futures,
The amount of thy's enthusiasm becomes fewer,
As thy remembers the metal around thy's legs won't get any looser.