I sit here locked inside my cage,
O, if you only knew my rage -
Imprisoned, sitting on a perch
And, like a preacher in a church,
You listen to me talk all day
Yet care not what I have to say.
Just open up the door here, Jim,
And then I’ll tear you limb from limb
In my life-story’s newest chapter,
This scion of Velociraptor.
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3 comments:
I bet that would be tasty roasted on a skewer with some teriyaki sauce...
Nasty little boids. My college GF had a pair, and they were the noisiest, messiest, most ill-tempered avians you can imagine.
You never met my brother's late cockatiel, then. What a little feathered bastard she was. Perhaps her ill temper arose from resentment over having been named "Cocktepple," which is the Yiddish term for "thundermug."
Why did I read this to the tune of "Werewolves of London"?
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