A free bird
Perched on the roof of an old man's brick, it sits
on the browning tiles
Talking to the rooster beside it saying,
"This is not my home."

The rooster does not answer,
It turns its head north.

A little while longer, the lung is caged
And home is prison-
The bird is not quite free again.

As is a plane soaring across the open sky
With wings metallic of touch;
Like a free bird, the
Cranes fly beside the window saying,
"This is not your home."

It does not answer,
And the cranes fly pass.

A little while longer, the lung is caged
and home is prison-
The bird is not quite free again.
And nowhere is anywhere can they say
This is our home,
This is our home...

But a Man holds it, the key
To the cage
And instead of stopping to listen for the groaning plane
And the cranes that cry to know
What kind of bird it is -

He looks up to his roof where
The free bird and the rooster perch on the
Brown tiles, musty from an old man's greed
And asks,

Where is the cage?
Where
is the **** cage?

So to his back he continues
Drinking his lukewarm coffee,
Swallowing the truth that even he
Might be misplaced
under his own roof.