Nothing, perchance, awaits a bird in a cage.  
As days blur to dusk and nights melt to dawn,  
it sings, it sorrows, yet never soars. 
 
To fly is a chore.  
To fly is a risk.  
To fly is unnatural.  
 
My bird, why do you wallow?  
 
Your songs are filled with doubt, your melodies hang heavy and haunted, your indifference burns to a fiery degree.  
  
Stay, my bird. Sing me your sweetest tunes! Have a caterpillar here and there for your drudgery.   
 
Stay, my bird. The sky is overpraised! Here is safe. Here is comfortable. Here is unchanging.  
 
Stay, my bird! Turn away when the door yawns wide; you know how much we cherish you.  
 
Just a few more years, my bird! Then, I vow, you shall be free.  
 
My bird, mustn't you fly? Far, far away. 
Foolish bird, why do you stay?