Lyrics

Pigeons sit lined up like ellipses on a streetlamp | like Morse code| sparrows are whole notes on the staff strung up between | telephone poles | and if they could not sing | could this be their song written out? | and if they could not wing | could they learn to love the ground? | every little bird a frustrated Pollock | every car hood a canvas | clean and polish people wash away the art | they just don’t understand it | but there’s a message in the mess | I’ve been trying my best to decipher | during reincarnation something lost in the translation | now an eyesore | what the car crash stole comes back not quite whole | but full of good intention | the diamond now a coal | is the beauty trapped inside forever? | what will I be born without the second time around? | how will I express my heart? | without hands or wings or song | will it be a prison for my soul? | would it be better to go once alone | or not even at all? | pigeons sit lined up like ellipses on a streetlamp | like Morse code| sparrows are whole notes on the staff strung up between | telephone poles | and if I cannot sing | could this be my song written out? | and if I cannot not wing | can I learn to love the ground? | can I learn to love the ground? | can I learn to love the ground?