The White Eagle

Lights flying through my eyes
Like tiny stars in a tall
Glass
Make my body fly
High up in the clouds, clouds, clouds
A height in my brain
A rainbow in the sky
Not moving any higher, high, high

Feeling like a feather under the clouds
Watching the dots of stars and mounds
Sending a letter to the moon
High up in the clouds, clouds, clouds
Still moving all the bounds

White flowing through my feathers
Tainted stains of dried
White
Make my body fly
High up in the clouds, clouds, clouds
A talon in the flesh
A rip against a tree
Only moving higher, high, high

Breaking the black with a crack
Running from the flock and crowds
Basking in the free
Wind
High up in the clouds, clouds, clouds
Still moving all the bounds

Nothing is picture perfect
The white, the light, the
Bright
Lines tracing each pass
High up in the clouds, clouds, clouds
Still moving all the bounds

Never not flying wherever wings would
Fly
Onto lands of eagles and swans.

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