Songbird

Blow that whistle, Annabelle, but words of choosing,
for if you whistle the wrong tune he may start refusing.

You owe this bird, your loyal protector, a song,
through that whistle you may play and he’ll come along.

Giant metal wings and giant metal beak,
if you upset him you’ll hear him creak.

So play that tune and hope to see him sing,
but do it wrong and pain and suffering he will bring.

For his metal carcass was built in a shop,
his limbs put together like a grandfather’s clock.

So big and strong his electrical circuits help him fly,
with his junkyard-made talons he carries you into the sky.

So blow that whistle, Annabelle,
and hope that Songbird won’t take you to your cell.