The Museum of Forlorns

Tonight the birds have their wings broken,

Their ancient hearts bled against glass door—

Nobody did, nobody will, nobody has ever spoken.

Amidst the dust, there's a moon forsaken 

Adorning the walls of despair and misery;

Tonight the birds have their wings broken.

The angels in art, have never been awoken

In deepest slumber their faces crumbled,

Nobody did, nobody will, nobody has ever spoken.

Once, the birds were offered a token;

A museum of forlorns, standing in nothingness—

But tonight the birds have their wings broken.

The ribs, bones, blood and all that was taken

There's no sky in their silent wail—

And nobody did, nobody will, nobody has ever spoken.

And everyone, who passed the hall, left it unbroken—

You, who know no rage, tomorrow you will leave again

But tonight the birds have their wings broken,

See? nobody did, nobody will, nobody has ever spoken.