The bird song goes like this:
It will never work
It will never work.
 
Outside my window it chirps the same four words because three words are too hard to sing. With eyes glued shut and sore muscles I recline and attempt to wake. It will never work. It will never work. Damn birds, how can they make such sad songs sound so beautiful? It peeks its head against the window screen because there is no way there’s room in my room for free creatures. I feel claustrophobic and nausea overcompensates for my lack of sleep. It will never work. My eyes finally slowly open and burn as if sunlight were shining into them on a hot summer day at the beach. My bed feels like sand and my body is drenched in sweat. I stretch, first my arms and then my abdomen until I twist the way the water falling out of a low-pressure faucet would. It will never… Work.