Written so many years before I was even a twinkle in an eye. And yet it is one of my very first memories. A little girl turning the key, and a patient Grandmother teaching her the lyrics. The rough ceramic of the base and the bird and the cold metal cage. I used to sit there with that music figurine, entranced by it, wondering what the story really was. Many a time I have found myself, through various stages and places and ages, humming its seemingly bright-but really just so-sad melody.
Surprised and momentarily shocked to happen across a variation as a t-shirt and a wall 'painting'. The bird is perfect: a little yellow canary, just as it should be. The only thing missing is the gild. The title too is off, but ironically so.
She's Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage vs. A Caged Bird Dreams.
It seems more of an extension--a 107 year post-script.
Always have been aware of the lyrics. But this P.S. drives them a little more home.
"All is not golde that glistereth." But sometimes, sometimes, it is.
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I found myself jealous tonight--the first time in so very long. Sick. Thats the only word I've got for it. Exasperated because I can't figure it out. Well, on the other end. For once I can fully figure myself out, at least as far as my understanding goes. I simply wish I knew how to be seen. But not with the eyes. I don't even mean "seen". Repulsed. But still desirous. Or, to understand as though you do. Or could. Or can. Or...or...or..."This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”--J.K.
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