there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but i'm too tough for him. i say, stay in there, i'm not going to let anybody see you. there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but i pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but i'm too tough for him. i say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? you want to screw up the works? you want to blow my book sales in europe? there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but i'm too clever, i only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. i say, i know that you're there, so don't be sad. then i put him back, but he's singing a little in there, i haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but i don't weep, do you?

— charles bukowski, "bluebird".