A parakeet sits, with colorful wings
and sweet dreams of grandeur
now shattered in vain.
It's dreams are of blue skies and of billowing clouds
which it sees everyday
through the bars that surround.
And only to someone, who's been there before
do the eyes tell the story of someone forlorn.

The lion does walk with bright golder mane
and a remembrance of a kingdom
he lost one dark day.
He remembers of tall grass and plentiful game,
and a roar that sent shivers
now no longer the same.
And those eyes tell a story, as he walks to and throw
of a kingdom once had and a freedom once known.

And me?  I'll just sit here for I truly know.
The story the eyes tell and the hearts mournful woe.