Held lovingly yet with such great disdain. You and I were born of the same mold said the raven to the crow. And it was only to be answered back, you may be tolerated but you will never be accepted. 

I want to live, I want to live, but there can not be life where there is only murder. Feeding and regurgitating what has already been done. And with that in mind he took flight on a venture without season. 

Wo-oh-oh my wings have grown sore. 

And with the first flight, not content he drew his wings out in an attempt. His song would fill the rows of pumpkin patches. They turned to ashes as they trampled out by horses. I've learned that I am vain, I've learned that I am vain. If I am one to blame well we should share a name. My figs were turned in for the richest grains, these are the [bad word] of my labor. 

Wo-oh-oh my wings have grown sore.