The Stoner I went outside, to smoke a joint, and a blue bird

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The Stoner
I went outside, to smoke a joint, and a blue bird fell from a tree.
I looked it over, it was dead, could it be from me?
I'm no biologist, and I was stoned, but I could still believe,
That this bird had choked to death, on my smoking weed.
Had it been my fault, had I done wrong?
Could my burning plant leaves cause this second-hand harm?
I buried the bird, in a box, once I was sure it had died.
From that day forth, I swore on Blue, I'd only smoke inside.
The Philosopher
The next day, I came to find, a very sour sight.
Two baby Blues, in their nest, alone and filled with fright.
I went to my shrink, for time to think, about the value of a life.
We got high, and he talked about, knowing what's wrong from right.
I took that cue, to think of Blue, and do what Jefferson taught.
The right to life, we all do have, it's why our forefathers fought.
I went back home, fed the birds, and inside they were brought.
I went to sleep, having done right, I was happy at that thought
The Darkness
Bright sun shone, through the window, as I awoke.
I grabbed my bong, packed a bowl, and blew out lots of smoke.
I turned my head, to the nest, and witnessed the cruelest joke.
Stiff as stone, in a smoky room, both the Blues had croaked.
I was distraught, at the thought, that the blame was solely mine.
I'd killed three birds, three innocent birds, in only a day's time.
I chose from that day forth, to rescind any a care,
Some lives are short, some lives are long, it's fucked, but also fair.