A pretty little bird sits in a tree
Telling her story to anyone she sees
Singing because she can.
She has a broken wing
But she told herself that she was beautiful,
and that she could fly-
So she did.
She flew and sang and told all the other little birds
That they could fly too.
Well time came and went
And the pretty little bird doesn't sing anymore
She's broken and old and bitter
Squawking  at the world she loved so much
That broke her heart
And told her that her broken wing made her not beautiful-*but a monster.