birdsong He was such a gentleman That kind old man named Sid But when he tried to kill me I told them what he did. It was not my problem Situation of a different kind You cannot kill innocence, In this mystery you will find. Metaphors, no open sores Desire leaking from your pores You'll block all the doors But you can't kill me with your closed doors. My birdsong is my defense Or maybe retaliation Nevertheless, I will survive An age old situation Your ignorance defeated you You knew how loud I sang Open the door Or I'll sing thru my fangs. Katrina Kidwell Johnson Buddha 10/20/1998