Bluebird

There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him. I say, Stay in there — I'm not going to let anybody see you. There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke, and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there. There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too tough for him. I say, Stay down — do you want to mess me up? You want to screw up the works? You want to blow my book sales in Europe? There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out, but I'm too clever. I only let him out at night sometimes, when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. Then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there. I haven't quite let him die, and we sleep together like that — with our secret pact — and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep. Do you?