The free bird thinks of another breezeand the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn and he names the sky his own

but a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat

to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill