| Butterflies danced on invisible strings
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| Showing wings they borrowed from a rainbow
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| And a blackbird on high sang a praise to the sky
|
| While a light aeroplane sprayed the fields with a silvery rain
|
| Furry backed bees with a tireless drone
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| Never moan, they’re happy to be working
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| And a grasshopper green could be heard but not seen
|
| While a light aeroplane sprayed the fields with a silvery rain
|
| Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul, before there’s nothing left to fly at all
|
| Take to the sky, higher than high, before the silvery rain begins to fall
|
| Nothing moves now but the swaying ripe corn
|
| Not a dawn is greeted with a bird’s song
|
| There’s a feather or two from a bird that once flew
|
| Before a light aeroplane sprayed the fields with a silvery rain
|
| Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul, before there’s nothing left to fly at all
|
| Take to the sky, higher than high, before the silvery rain begins to fall
|
| Nothing moves now but the swaying ripe corn
|
| Not a dawn is greeted with a bird’s song
|
| There’s a feather or two from a bird that once flew
|
| Before a light aeroplane sprayed the fields with a silvery rain
|
| Fly away, Peter, fly away, Paul, before there’s nothing left to fly at all
|
| Take to the sky, higher than high, before the silvery rain begins to fall
|
| Nothing moves now but the swaying ripe corn
|
| Not a dawn is greeted with a bird’s song
|
| There’s a feather or two from a bird that once flew
|
| Before a light aeroplane sprayed the fields with a silvery rain |