Sing a song of violence,
A pocket full of lie;
Four - and - twenty ________ birds
Baked in a Pie.
When the pie was threatened,
The guns began to roar
Wasn't that a dandy way
o start another war? 
Sing a song of violence, A pocket full of lie;
Four - and - twenty ________ birds Baked in a Pie.
When the pie was threatened, The guns began to roar
Wasn't that a dandy way o start another war?
In the fall of 2002, while trying to work on quite a different show, I found myself emotionally highjacked by the world events that deluged us in the daily newspapers. Stories of the search for weapons of mass destruction; of the escalation of hostilities between the US and Iraq; of various attacks from all parties in the Middle East, especially between Israel and Palestine; of the nuclear warhead trading and saber-rattling in Pakistan and North Korea - all were cascading into my consciousness in a very short period of time. I thought of what springtime would bring, and began casting dead robins. Black robins who were also white, white robins who were also black, black-and-white robins shrouded in all sides of the stories that provoked me; also soft, malleable robins of wax and sugar, caught in the quicklime of an unidentified but obviously toxic substance.
Caught in the age-old cycles of violence and retaliation, who will remember that we are all one species?
