The cool night air breezes by,
spreading chill down my spine
and not so far away, the mockingbird sings
happily about a love that lives..
And it goes on and on merrily
about how its lover is its destiny
not knowing that such stories end in tragedy
as love for its kind is like the Divine Comedy..
It sings, it dances to a kind of joy
inexperienced by those who sees life as just getting by..
Oh how it praises its lover’s beauty and grace,
it has such a deep meaning to it, I’m so amazed..
The tone suddenly turns slightly somber
as if it had suddenly remembered
that love was never meant to be for its kind
as no one ever seemed to understand its mind..
And now it sings with a hint of woebegone
of the love it has but a lover, none..
For all it could do is love from afar
its lover not noticing its presence or the love that’s been living so far..
And unknown by it, it now sings within a cage
inhibited by a heart full of broken shards, an aftermath of its rampage..
Its love was a fierce fever, one it couldn’t put up a fight against and win
and now it sits dejectedly on its bottom, love still coursing like a river within..
In silence it still sings
for a lover that lives within..
In silence is all it can do
for a lover that never seems to notice it too..