He could fly, it was his job
Across the battlefields, and the bloody bogs
He spread his wings, and took to the skies
And he was safe every time he flied

But there were some who could not fly
And to see him soar always made them cry
So they'd shoot their jealous arrows
They cut him down, they were such nasty fellows

Occasionally, they would hit him
And the pain would burn a hole into his skin
So he built some heavy armor
And each time it was hit, it would only make him calmer

Eventually, it weighed him down
So much weight, he could neither smile nor frown
And his wings lacked the strength to fly
So he spent his days dreaming of the sky