There is a bird who sings to me
Each morning from the apple tree
I wonder what he’s trying to say?
Stop fucking up. It’s not too late!
It’s such a happy, joyous sound!
Little bird who chirps so loud
And brightens up my day with song.
Stop standing there. You’ve not got long.
I wish I could translate your words
My faithful, a cappella bird
Who sits upon the highest bough.
And still you wait. You must act now!
All’s quiet in the tree today
I think perhaps he’s moved away
There’s silence these days everywhere
The ghost of birdsong in the air
