SO COLD, THE BIRDS WON'T SING

the land is deathly quiet

like a funeral's begun

the sky black as an inkwell

for the dawn has not been won
.

birds sit on perches, nestled

no unfolding of their wings

the chill just mocks their melodies

so cold, the birds won't sing
.

they say there is no temple

if the congregation's lost

it might as well be cardboard

and into the scrap heap, tossed
.

a song's for celebration

rendered by a voice that rings

the world is locked in shadows now

so cold, the birds won't sing
.

the king that reigns wants silence

and he wears a regal gown

the fabric thick and heavy

holding all his subjects down
.

the sea is bathed in darkness

it affects all living things

the atmosphere is ominous

so cold, the birds won't sing