Last In First Out
Cowbird Song
Upon being plucked before being ripe I can pray my rind won't taste bitter Red funeral, the pallbearer's grip slipped The casket split and bled feathers Turbulent nights when the grey really showed He rocked her to sleep much better Give me some children to fill the hole I'll even supply the shovels But don't let them grow beyond your control They'll crack you with the handles Adopted worm convulsing inside Scratching the brain persuaded to buy her You picked me from the litter, I'm your favorite So where were you when they threw in the punches? Tending your young, making cheap assumptions Hatching Now we're begging Crying Now we're crawling Spreading Now we're flying Soaring Now we're falling...
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