With my wings cut off, I am trying to fly,
but am floating with a crushed, wounded soul.
Bloodstained flowers are quietly sprouting inside.
With my voice all dried up, I'm not whole...

Like a kitten curled up in a glass, very tense,
in a teardrop I fit and submissively bend.
Looked at under the staring gaze of a lens,
full of holes are my clothes, sewn by hand.

Trampled on are my dreams and audacity.
With my head bowed, I start sifting sand.
My hopes are entangled in webs of opacity,
and my light’s dying out where I stand...

With my wings cut off, I am trying to fly,
but am floating with a crushed, wounded soul.
Bloodstained flowers are offered to me by the night,
but the morning invites me to flow...