When
I
was
a
little
child,
I
once
found
a
bird
lying
on
the
ground.
It
would
not
ever
fly
again.
I
held
the
bird
up
in
my
hands,
I
shed
my
tears
over
the
lovely
song
that
not
longer
could
be
heard.
Never
learn
to
fly.
With
dirty
hands
I
dug
a
hole
and
gently
laid
the
bird
to
rest
in
soil:
a
wound
in
the
tear
stained
mud.
My
tears
wore
rain
as
I
revealed
the
secrets
of
a
tree.
A
cross
of
bark
to
speak
through
wooden
grains:
"never
learn
to
fly"
I
sang
a
song
which
I
remembered
my
grandma
used
to
sing
for
me,
when
I
was
sick
and
laid
in
bed.
Then
I
cursed
that
day
for
showing
me
my
own
mortality
for
then
I
knew
that
all
that
lives
turns
cold.
Cold
and
dead.
And
now
time
has
passed
by
beneath
my
wings.
[kristoffer
gildenlow]
That
was
then
I'm
older
now,
but
still
I
can't
forget
that
rainy
day.
I
raged
against
the
ending
times,
though
some
day
soon
my
son
will
maybe
find
the
tree
I
cleansed
of
skin.
No
chain-sling
will
ever
climb
its
rotten
limbs.
And
when
the
time
has
come
for
me
to
die,
I
want
to
lie
beside
that
bird.
Never
learn
to
fly.
When
I
was
a
little
child,
I
once
found
myself
dying
on
the
ground
and
now
I'll
never
...fly...