Done-Flyin' Avian

Guts slimed offally across my window�a bay.
Bird nipped on fermented berries�lost its way.
What'll I find when I open it?
Bet I won't smile.
Pile some lime in an open pit�
That bird's erstwhile.

When I take the shade up, what am I going to find?
I smell it right now:
It has started to cook�it's braising in the sunshine.

The window shade's rustling; bird's about to be seen:
It looks like rabid drool; it gives me a ghastly mien.
I need to get bleach�disinfect it, to kill the pathogens.
After the bleach, maybe�liquid nitrogen

No doubt�that bird's time's up,
It will do no more flyin'.

Fermented cranberries are what blew its little mind.

No doubt�that bird's time's up,
It will do no more flyin'
Gettin' sick as I look,
But I have got to start pryin'.

Roofer man leaves a ladder leaning against a tree.
If I take it the bird'll be much easier to free.
I climb up it, the rungs braced against my pelvic bone.
Then I pour Drano on the bird, to clean my home.

I watch the carcass drop on the electric line.
It ramps up the amps�next thing I know, that bird is fryin'.