Winge.

It's been three years now. I've managed to keep it a secret. Well, at least I've managed to keep it mysterious. It is truly a beauty to be here right now, on this mountain peak that I don't even know the name of. I look upon the shimmering lake with much awe. I don't feel the cold. I'm fully grown now. My feathers keep my warm. There is no one here but me and the singing wind. The ability to fly is high maintenance. But it also means I could travel all I want, without any appropriate visa or passport. It means there was no boundaries. After all, no one cared about birds crossing the border. Countries are such a vague concept now that I am a changed man. I am part human, part avian. When I'm not flying, I'm eating. When I'm filled, and wind-streaked, I drape over the palm trees, and write songs of my lost love.

Tralala

Goes the river of sadness

Like the stream of tears

That the city cries

What a delight

What a sight

Her wings under the pale moonlight

How I wish, I could fly away from time.