Some may say fire was invented by man. But everything was now wasn’t it. What you know has been told by tongues you understand. To resonate deep inside. But what if I told you the true story of fire. When the dinosaur roamed and the world was lush. There were no humans. Not yet anyway.
It was one very long day when the sun had been up for at least 20 hours. All the animals hot and all very exhausted. A tiny little bird only 3cm wide flew into the sky. Much higher than before. As its wings began to slow he perched on a cloud. So small he was the cloud naturally obliged. He rested a moment and went on his way.
Up and up he flew, he had a message to give to the sun, the sun he hardly knew. He had a plan to sing the sun to sleep. A sweet little lullaby. He got to the sun and boy was he tired. He could not muster a single note. The sun felt for the little birds journey and blew him a kiss, a sign of love for his scurry. Little bird burst into flames and fell to the earth. Ashes sprinkled like rain.
Oh little bird, oh little bird
His plan had failed. But the sun could not stop crying. Darkness came and the rains they poured. Little birds ashes pooled in a puddle. When enough tears had been shed the sun shone again. And out of the ashes on flaming wings he came
little bird little bird
A Phoenix he was now. On wings of fire he graced the sky.
Man just stole a feather. That’s how man lies.