The Wren knows well
That the dread he feels
Comes not from hell
But the hope he steals
From nothing-
It’s baseless
In the face of the truth
Of the fact that the Siren
Fears conversation.

The Wren knows well
That the Siren knows well
What it means to feel pain
So to hurt someone else
Is just what it means
To yearn for what’s lost
And forget about what was had.

The Wren knows well
That the Siren knows well
That the Wren knows well
Of the pleasure it felt
As it burned up its tongue
And sang from its lungs
A song about feeling weak.
But the Siren was silent
As she stretched out her wings,
And screamed his heart shut
Til the Wren was hurting,
So imagine the pain
That he felt on that day
When a beanbag was sewn to his beak.
The Wren had always been meek.