the mockingbird is dead and it lies at your feet.
its wings were clipped long before we got to meet
a flight doomed to fail, yet it tried
readying its wings, looking up to the sky
a sky where it's song has room to breathe
and flourish and flutter, the world underneath
innocence can float on but a single breeze
and slowly make its way through the trees
but it got shot down, some pistol below
a politician grinds it under his toe
the mockingbird chokes and tries to sing
but its spine is cracked and so are its wings
'no freedom today,' joe, john, and bill say
'this pretty little thing is just for us to play'
so the people they watch, as it's broken and caged
and the big men they say, 'oh look how it's aged'
when really, it's young, it's just damaged outside
you can't even count how many times it's cried.
innocence keeps fighting, hoping to be freed
and you, oh you cried, as they watched it bleed
but flight can be deadly, death we cannot cheat
so the mockingbird is dead and it lies at your feet
© count on the stars