That little song bird.
That little song bird,
up in the tree,
she flew down and she told me,
that you helped her to spread her wings
and dream.
That little song bird, nested on a rose,
as red as a rose could be,
and in all the never ending happiness,
along came a little rose bud.
But that little rose bud isn’t me.
That little rose bud bloomed and she blossomed.
But each time one of her petals fell,
she had no one to bring them back up again,
because she didn’t have you, because that little rose bud isn’t me.
The little song bird, from up in the tree,
sang to me that she couldn’t be more happy.
That little song bird, up in the tree,
flew down and told me.
That she couldn’t feel more safe,
happy or loved.
Because that little song bird, up in the tree …
That little song bird, is me.
By:
Punks.
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