A film crew hid in a shed with no light.
They hoped to find birds they could shoot before night,
But not with their shotguns, machine guns or tanks.
Instead it's like film cameras shooting Tom Hanks.

They stared at a tree and they tried to stay still.
Hours of inaction eroded their will
To stare at a tree that refuses to act.
They'd rather see Beckett or Brecht, so they backed

Out of their plans to film the birds.
They'd try to shoot something with action and words.
Fred, the director, led them away
Through fields outside town where they'd wander and stray

In search of some incident worthy of shooting,
Some interesting people or curious new thing.
They came across people who stood in a field,
Content to just wait for what fate or God dealed.

One or two people mistook them for statues.
A woman nearby, who makes and sells cat shoes,
Thought they were mimes who need an idea,
Awaiting assembly like shelves from Ikea.

A bird came to perch on the shoulder of one.
She smiled at first. Then a man with a gun
Aimed for the bird who stood next to her head.
Before the first shot she was rescued by Fred,

Who frightened away the man who was armed.
Smiles were restored. No creatures were harmed
During the making of this simple verse.
No humans or animals left in a hearse.

No limbs, claws or paws were put in a sling.
No pets were prevented from playing with string,
Apart from the cat who believed her new shoes
Did more than protect her four paws from a bruise.

She thought she could fly, and walk over water.
She first tried the former, and Fred would have caught her
But that's when he noticed the bird on the shoulder.
A strange 'meow' followed. The cat's owner told her

Not to believe that the shoes gave her powers.
Just Jesus and Superman jump off of towers.
But it was too late then, after the jump,
And the high-pitched 'meow' and the cat-landing thump.

The cat got a cast on her favourite paw.
Her match with the string was declared a score-draw,
Which angered spectators who'd gathered to see it.
They had to drive home in a small yellow Fiat,

Which secretly angered them more than the missing
Of cat versus string followed by post-match kissing.
That's kissing each other, not kissing the feline.
Boyfriend and girlfriend who've both made a beeline

For some sheltered place where the lighting is dim.
Fred would have filmed it, if they'd have let him.
He now had a taste for some action and drama.
He muffled the sound of his mind's Dalai Lama.

He'd rather film fighting than birds in the trees.
He'd only film birds in conjunction with bees.
He'd have to keep looking or set up a stunt.
The cat was curtailed from her tricks for a month.

So Fred and his film crew walked on again.
Fate dealt a hand that seemed certain to win.
They came across people who recreate battles.
They act out the great fatal blows and death rattles.

They wear filthy rags and they carry pitch forks.
They entered this world years ago via storks,
But now they all look like they're set to depart,
Sent back to God by hot lead in the heart.

They'd love a good fight, but there's only one side.
They can't find a suitable groom for this bride.
None of them there want to be with the Brits.
Each one denies that the uniform fits.

And so all the light bulbs in their fight club heads
Grow dim as the day leads them nearer their beds.
They act out their deaths to invisible hands,
While others enact the lacklustre last stands.

Some of them only attend for the chance
To drink or to walk through the fields without pants.
When Fred saw the battle he thought it looked odd.
It seemed there's a practical joker in God.

As he was preparing to leave with his crew,
From over the hill there appeared a crowd who
Were dressed up as cowboys and Indians and
They were intent on reclaiming their land.

They'd waited since Easter for this type of weather
To film their Western called 'They're Getting Deader'.
They asked all the men with the pitch forks to go
So they could film there, but the chance of a foe

Made the fork-armed recreationist club
Reject any plans for retreat to the pub.
They all stood their ground and a battle ensued.
Strategies were either absent or crude.

Cowboys and Indians fought side by side,
At last a fit groom for a dangerous bride.
Fred filmed it all, but it wasn't that great.
'Stick with the birds' was the message of fate.

No humans were harmed in the battle above.
The symbol of peace, the single white dove,
Felt slightly unhealthy with each fake blood spill.
They often meet up to stage fights on the hill.