Absently Whittington fingers a pellet
That hangs there suspended between flesh and gullet
Birdman
The barking of birddogs, the vapors of bourbon
Forever reminders of shots in the morning
Birdman
Heâs longing for old days when friendships were less complicated
On wheels of fire to the library makeshift infirmary bed
On wheels of fire to the library makeshift infirmary bed
Under the heat and plotting deceit
Just try to hang on
Birdman
Receiving his grandkids, their slow eyed appraisal
The borders of skin grafts, the values of paintings
Birdman
So, too, is Whittington lost in assessing
The battles for nothing, his country regressing
Birdman
Always removed from the boys in the school
Who paid their way cutting limes
You stood on the wrong side of the line
From the Little Rock Nine