| Even the birds when they sing
|
| It’s not everything to them
|
| Fiddle-head ferns and daffodils
|
| Made me want to play
|
| To the puppies having their little breakfast
|
| So I picked up six fine strings
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| And I began to play
|
| What I thought that new
|
| Born fur would like best
|
| Hey, hey, such a new born morn
|
| Hey, hey, the puppies they have gone
|
| Left me here holding this song
|
| Music is so much less than what you are
|
| Just how far can you take me
|
| How far can you take me, Mother Nina
|
| Before I’m on my own
|
| Don’t imagine that the pretty flower can sing a song
|
| When the sun makes it’s sap to rise
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| One by one the chorus swells till it’s a mighty noise
|
| Are you sure that it’s not a silence?
|
| Hey, hey, such a new born morn
|
| Hey, hey, the puppies they have gone
|
| Left me here holding this song
|
| Music is so much less than what you are
|
| Just how far can you take me
|
| How far can you take me, Mother Nina
|
| Before I’m on my own
|
| Even the birds when they sing
|
| It’s not everything to them
|
| Even the birds when they sing
|
| Spread their wings to heaven and fly away |