So you whistle, so you sing-
The wayward monarch, the captive king.
Strung by rafters in the parlor,
He’s clipped your wings and scrubbed your squalor,
Broke your legs and smashed your beak,
He left you dying; he’s made you weak.

Your song has turned to some odd tune-
All’s gone dismal, eminent gloom.
You’re miserly, and can’t you see?
Those wings will grow! You could still go free!

You’ve been so long, you seek his hand-
Sought purely as the only hand,
As your only lover, as the only man-
You’ve lost the sands, the seas, the distant lands.

I’ve seen the chase; I watched you fall—

I saw him maim you; I’ve seen it all.

And now his slave will be his bride,

The coerced consort, I’d be at your side,
We’d soar in honesty, we’d wade life’s tide-
He’ll say he’s loved you—I’ll say he’s lied
Those sounding sights you’ll never see.
I’d carry you from misery!

Now you’re caged, while I roam free-
The caged bird sings no songs to me.