Well, I saw a bird today
flying from a bush
and the wind blew it away.
And the black-eyed mother sun
scorched the butterfly at play
velvet veined. I saw it burn.
With a wintry storm-blown sigh,
a silver cloud blew right on by.
And, taking in the morning, I sang
O Requiem.

Well, my lady told me, "Stay.''
I looked aside and walked away
along the strand.
But I didn't say a word,
as the train time-table blurred
close behind the taxi stand.
Saw her face in the tear-drop black cab window.
Fading into the traffic; watched her go.
And taking in the morning,
heard myself singing
O Requiem.
Here I go again.
It's the same old story.

Well, I saw a bird today
I looked aside and walked away
along the Strand.

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