Migration Season

I'm in my room listening to the sounds of Mr. Bill Cosby coming out of Ryan's Macbook. I miss clean comedians sometimes, original personalities that find witty ways to fill that hour or two of space without resorting to underhanded tactics or distasteful commentary. I also miss the days when Bill Cosby had his wits about him, he was a coherent and funny man and his humor is missed dearly.

There's a flock of birds on the horizon and they to beckon you to take to the sky

But your wings are clipped, they never did unfold

All you see are glass ceilings and fit your dreams into them

And the only sound that rings in your ears our your past mistakes

What is real and what they say are starting to look the same

You my dear are too young have to live for someone else

But theres a voice in your ear thats not your own

Every time you step out the door it calls you back home

Telling you to listen to its words for that's how your identity is formed

It promises you nothing but takes all you own

And I've realized that this voice is much stronger than my own

I cannot be heard when I feel blood well up in my throat

From the constant shouting, but youre beyond reproach

You've made your choice, clipped you're own wings

Instead of flying southward you hop from branch to branch

Only feeling winters sting and not the summer suns embrace

You've never known any other way


Well I was compelled to write for the last few minutes in the middle of the Bill Cosby blog lol, this is what I have, I guess things have been on my mind lately.