A Morning Poem

I woke early one morning,
The earth lay cool and still,
When suddenly a tiny bird,
Perched on my window sill,
He sang a song so lovely,
So carefree and so gay,
That slowly all my troubles,
Began to slip away,
He sang of far off places,
Of laughter and of fun.
I stirred beneath the covers,
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window,
And crushed his fucking head,

I'm not a morning person.