Colorado, can you hear me?
Are you listening, are you even there?
Colorado, are you listening?
Do you hear me, do you even care?

The concrete canopy, mountains of symmetry;
The city policy, the city air.
The boroughs I have seen seem so unfair,
As do the feathers on the sidewalks I find there.

I do not need to speak, but I want to listen
To the tiniest of flights and their transmissions.
The words tied to their wings
Are the words I'm going to sing.
The noise, small and strong:
A bird is a song.

Torch the sails, and set fire to our deals:
My heaven is here, my heaven is here.
Who would need escape, who would seek salvation
From a place so bright and clear?

I do not need to see, but I need a vision.
I want seamless operation upon ignition.
The fuel that I salt away
Will keep us through the darkest of days;
Will keep us well through winters long,
And when springtime starts her broadcast,
The birds are our song.

Keep your feathers clean and dry.

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