We are birds we
|
Ran from the water.
|
And birds we take off
|
Over the ocean.
|
We fly in flock sometimes,
|
Fly in a V.
|
But we can fly solo,
|
I can tell you no.
|
And a sea fly lands on the edge of your footprint,
|
I'm closer to things on the ground.
|
There were flowers like lace
|
All covering paths, like the ones leading up to your door.
|
They were always there blooming and spreading.
|
Well how come I have never seen them before?
|
They grow in a garden or a wild field.
|
They're bright and their yellow.
|
Oh, you know.
|
You sung through all of my sorrows,
|
The closest that I could have found.
|
Now I have floated down
|
From the top of my tears, and
|
I'm closer to things on the ground.
|
And most of this room is empty,
|
And the furniture that is left is rearranged.
|
"And I can't play you my old songs," you said,
|
"My hand writing has changed."
|
The sofas are worn in,
|
And the foot stools are gone.
|
The lights set the room a glow.
|
And taking someone for granted sometimes,
|
One voice in is more than a sound.
|
It's like hitting myself in the face.
|
Now I'm closer to things on the ground.
|
We are birds we
|
Ran from the water.
|
And birds we take off
|
Over the ocean.
|
And we fly.
|
We fly.
|
|
-----------------
|
Birds
|
| Lisa Loeb |
