This curtain is brittle,
It fragments to pieces,
So rigid,

Stuck on the hard rod,
These drapes are too anxious,
To drape,
Languidly on the windows pain,

They fall like starched cotton,
Chiffon who's been hurt,

Such harsh window treatments
Obstruct the view in,
They obstruct the view out,

Nobody knows I am here,
Especially not me,

The bleeding waves of scarlet cloth
Find a tragic end at the ruthless floor,
They lay frozen in ripples,
Red wounds that can't heal,

Oh, how they would cry out
With wanting to billow,
To stir with the feeling
And rhythm of wind,

But the window clings
To the spiritless curtain,
And the curtain
Can only cling back.

Nobody knows I can fly,
Especially not me.