Lyrics

Try
To wend your way
Through the thickest thickets
And avoid the ratchet call reviews of the
Gray Catbird critics.
Easily
The mimic mews,
"Be more original";
They heard it from
A bird more qualified to say it.
Freely
They propose a game of musical chairs;
They bend the rules
So they will win it when they play it.

Where there's a seat,
There'll be someone
Sitting pretty,
Calling your every shot
And shooting down
Your every call for help.
Your even feet
Won't ensure an even footing;
Your standing won't be understood
In the sedentary city.

Try
To look to your laurels
In a boxwood hedge
At public capacity.
Try to rest
Among the mock-mockingbird-occupied
Topiary thrones.
Eerily
The tin-can chorus vacates the premises,
Abruptly and without an echo--
Sturdy and upright
In the spotlight,
You emanate your candidacy
For upholstery.

Where there's a seat,
There'll be someone
Sitting pretty,
And where the seating's scarce
You'll get your shot at
Getting shot at.
Your beating heart
Won't save you from a heartfelt beating;
Your standing won't be understood
In the sedentary city.