Damned if I don’t move because I’m scared

Do you think for a second that I am oblivious to how it sounds? I know even better how it looks, in a world with eyes wide open and minds tightly closed, in the world of chickentown, of an industry selling the caged birds dying in droves because you simply cannot spell slaughter without laughter. I get that even feathers feel heavy some days, that hope feels as hollow as our own fowl bones, and that sometimes these songs resonate like anthems for our march to the axe. But... before we go down that dusty dirt path to keep our mortal date with destiny... we should earn our eternal rest. Flocking together, we could discover if the egg came first, or we could figure out how to fly even if only to spite the people who told us that "you just can't do things your body wasn't meant to." Pardon me for sticking my beak in where it does not belong, but I have hatched a plan for our escape. So transplant a backbone where your wishbone went and grew, and come home to roost with me. Tiptoe across one talon at a time if necessary, but, if we want to live to see the other side of this, we have to cross the road.