| I listened to a bird that told me all
|
| He seemed to make no sense as I recall
|
| I listened to the bees, their buzzing sounds
|
| Told nothing of the purpose of their rounds
|
| The claws that tear, the fangs that bite
|
| The placid pond, the bird in flight
|
| The lion stalking 'round his kill
|
| The flowers purpose on the hill
|
| I looked out at the trees that gently swayed
|
| They didn’t need to know how they were made
|
| I wondered if the world kept something hid
|
| Denied to me, for something that I did
|
| The claws that tear, the fangs that bite
|
| The placid pond, the bird in flight
|
| The lion stalking 'round his kill
|
| The flowers purpose on the hill
|
| I listened to a bird that told me all
|
| He seemed to make no sense as I recall
|
| So far I haven’t heard a songbird sing
|
| A single verse that told me anything
|
| The claws that tear, the fangs that bite
|
| The placid pond, the bird in flight
|
| The lion stalking 'round his kill
|
| The flowers purpose on the hill |