If he's on the left wing and she's on the right, what's the bird in the middle, how's it doing tonight?
Is it angry but silent, is it lost out at sea? Is it resting in peace, convinced that it's free?
The wings flap the bird. They have taken control. The bird's been complacent, lost its heart and its soul.
Wings need an engine, a motor, a spark. The bird can provide it, bring light to the dark.
The bird can provide it, if it wakes from its sleep, it can summon the power that it buried too deep.
The bird can resurface, ready to lead, it can strengthen its wings, but bring them to heed.
Clip a few feathers, drop a few seeds, nurture the bird, give it fire to breath.