300
The cuckoo's life is much like mines,
with ins and outs, on programmed time.
He does his work around the clock,
To the rhythm of tick-tock, tick-tock.....
How dull the hours, how same they year,
How old the song, how few to hear.
His house, his world, he lives alone
without a soul, to call his own.
He doesn't know from whence he came,
What is worse, theres none to blame.
Nor does he wonder how long he'll be a
dumb bird, or even, that he's free.
Passers-by may disagree,
How much this cuckoo-clock mimics me.
