I feel free as a bird and I want to fly
Through balmy air and summer sky
with wings of ochre-orange sunset
feathers to heaven, I\'ll fly to yet
from the cages adorning my homely dwelling,
the routineley fervor in the city of cloth
Wash day in and day out, an industrial life
made of fabrics so small they\'re cut with glass knives
That are obsidian and obsolete
to their superior diamonds;
but regardless of the finances
the factory birds are working.
And to them there is no chirping, is no singing
In that brutal factory hall
not a murmur, not a sound,
that makes birds what they are.
So an escapade of secret grandeur
would be such fine fantasy
pay for it in vast daydreams
till the reckoning becomes a reality
To confound the cambric soldiers
and liberate the linen laborers
turn chiffon courts to birds\' branches
Revolution from flowing challis
And the tree will be a tree once more
vivacious as like I adore
And cloth to belong to not just lords
but to every bird in the sky!