The blue feather falls slowly down to the ground.
While many are ever so fond;
its path remains ever vagabond
No one knows why without the sounds
A flick of the wrist lands the feathers in saliva.
A taste oh so familiar rides through like Lady Godiva.
Perhaps the best place for a feather is on the floor,
a place that's stable for it to snore
But everyone knows the feather only wants freedom.
Everyone knows a feather only wants freedom