Like a pheonix in the ashes,
With feathers of fiery red,
Who had his wings clipped in the dark,
So he shot out, through the lead.

With itty bitty steps,
And nobody on his side,
He shook off all the dirt and dust,
And no longer wished to hide.

So he spread his wings in fury,
With no one to hold him behind,
And he cried out in much vain,
That there was beauty, he would find.

His feet kissed the ground,
For the very final time,
And he flew very peacefully,
Like the song of a wind chime.