Birdman

My next door neighbour thinks he's a duck
He clutters and quacks all day long
I think he's daft and silly as bottoms
But this is better than when he was a swan

Mournfully gliding through his friendless garden
Serene and sad, as if he'd cause nobody harm
But when I went next door to get my towel
He flapped up with a fake wing and broke my arm

He's a sad case really, all sad and alone
His home and life are quiet, his heart feels so hollow
Never goes out, always in, quiet, still on his own
He was even earthbound and solo when he was a swallow

Since then he's tried them all, Pigeon, Dove, Robin
Lost count of the times he's stolen my bread
As he coos and sings, perched on the fence, all a bobbing
Then jumps up, poos, and falls off my shed

He thought he was an ostrich, I found his pants in my bush
He's a man without grace, balance or luck
One day he went out as an emu and came back as a thrush
I think he's already fed up with being a duck

Perhaps he feels some deep, dark guilt in his heart
Feels the need to be airborne to purge his dirty sin
He's managed to turn pain and tragedy into an art
He almost drowned when he was a penguin

At night when nobody's looking, he turns to the beer
I have to turn off the telly and press my ear to the wall
To hear the Birdman of Silvertown's agonised tears
Then he sleeps and dreams of flocking, flying through the squall

Spring became summer and the Birdman's pain came to an end
We found him dead in his garden, me and my darling
But his spirit rose into the sky, now we watch him every nite
Swirling and diving with the rest of the starlings