The little bird looks in through the window,
Tilting his head and pecking on the glass.
No matter how much time is wasted, though,
What happens inside, he can never grasp.
Maybe one day he will understand it:
The smiles and frowns, the laughter and sobs;
The worried stares and the fleeting glances.
But now, he watches how much one can rob.
Day after day, they steal each other's hearts,
Leaving scars as the door slams on a fight.
Yet they always come back, mend broken parts
And kiss the bruises away through the night.
The little bird looks in, stuck in a trance,
Wond'ring if he could ever have that chance.
