[P] Windowpane

In the arms of a little boy,

A small injured bird he hold,

He held it there; didn't cry nor sympathize,

He just held it with all his might and care,

As the day goes by, the boy could see,

The injured bird slowly heals,

It didn't flinch, nor tried to fly,

But he could see, it will not die,

When it completes its healing process,

It stands up; as big as his arm can be,

And walks a path to him, to his shoulder and face,

It sings a song, a sign of gratitude,

The boy smiles, with eyes closed,

He sits at the windowpane with the bird,

But then the bird flew,

And the smile on his lips slowly flew,

If only he as well could heal,

Then he will be like a bird,

As free as the injured bird that he healed,

He could never go outside again,

As he could never forget that pain,

The pain he took, for all of them.

As if they did understood,

But no, instead, they left him there-

After all the sacrifice he did for the best.

He wants to scream, if he could,

If only they are here, then he would.

Still, this thing he had, there's no one to blame,

For this is his fate, a destiny he has to face,

Mute and sitting by the windowpane,

Forever uncomfortable on his wheelchair,

But feeling nothing from his hips,

Down-- down and down to his feet.