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,
It seemed his very trilling
brought up the morning sun.
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