If a pigeon, thyself would soar beyond the heavens. Skies, seas, deserts explored. Thy cloudy-colored wings mark airs above, releasing screeches of such ferocity from my weird-palette throat. Beady eyes and misunderstood threats at those distasteful, freakish, two-legged butts.

However… indeed they do build stone blocks in particular shapes, providing worthy perch to establish sovereignty.

Glory be given, this deserving airborne empire! Fear no more, for insatiability reigns where wretched penguins fly. That is, nowhere.

Alas. Trapped parrots can dream. Eating. Squawking. Savoring delicious revenge released only whilst slumbering. Wishing death unto humanity makes unfortunately none difference.