The balance is upset.A desolate creature found its home among the lost.The elusive sleep cycles shifting chaotically, loosing their grip before the awakening, the dance of dice taking a life-changing roll on its rib, the inconsistency of time when mother sings a lullaby. They all made the feathers of the Bird's plumage every storm had left its mark on. They're a looking glass of unparalleled clarity of vision.The Bird is never here to be caught but always there to lift you high above.It's a harbinger.Its song is an omen of salutary introspection.Listen to the sound of the wings sacrificed.