Listen to the birds in the wood
      Each sings his own song
      They blend together mysteriously
Forming no specific melody or harmony,
Just song

I remember when
   The feathered choir
             Sang of praise and joy

Today. . . Just a sweet, sad song

The world should sing every day
            Like the birds
      Sing their sorrows out
Drain out the wickedness, with song

      Afterwards, maybe
We'd finally find peace

The birds could start one more
      With their songs of praise and joy
            I'd be glorious and full once again

Something better than this sweet, sad song