Let me tell you the tale
Of the mockingbird men
Those strange half-man creatures
Who dwell on the hill
Let me tell you the horror
Of whence they began
Where they will be going
And where they are still
‘Tis often forgotten
That there are two kinds
The ones who began thus
And those who became
Yet both find their home
Upon mockingbird hill
And all they encounter
Are never the same
The feeling is eerie
Their presence uncalm
Their feathers are ruffled and trite
A miasma of sadness
Regret is their balm
They lament for their loss in the night
Those who began birds
Forget how to fly
And take on the shapes
And the bland songs of men
Those who became
Sprout feathers and wings
And forget the deep magic
Of spirit and pen
Some choose their fate
While others do not
And others still, argue that
Nothing has changed
But man and bird know
That their voice is all wrong
And their features have been
Most unkindly arranged
Their gaze is most eerie
Their candor uncalm
Their clothes are all ruffled and trite
A patina sadness
Denial is their balm
They dream only of darkness at night
Some can return
To their natural form
But most will remain
Thus maligned
A mirror of ill fortune
Made forever to mock
All of us who remain
As designed
Let me tell you the tale
Of the Mockingbird Men
Who in feats of brave daring
Defied natures will
Let me tell you the horror
Of being bird-man
A design and a purpose
They’ll never fulfill
Their sing-song is eerie
Their nests are uncalm
Their petticoats ruffled and trite
An opera of sadness
Mockery, their balm
They lament for our loss in the night
