shot out of guns that do not move
We are clay pidgeons
The people who make us fly
are also the ones who shoot us down
We are all clay pidgeons
send out with dreams of soaring
we all realize that we are not supposed to
Like clay pidgeons
we realize that when we are highest
we will start to go for the low
Are we all clay pidgeons?
Or will some revolt
and create wings
and fly
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