The Bird

(Verse 1) A poor bird with a guitar, he comes to my window, Feathers frayed and worn, eyes filled with sorrow. He strums a tune so tender, with a broken-hearted wail, Lost his lover to the wind, now he sings a mournful tale. (Chorus) Oh, bird with your guitar, play your song of woe, Every chord you strum, my heart feels your sorrow. At my window, you cry, in the still of the night, Sharing your agony, in the pale moonlight. (Verse 2) Once he sang of love, in the meadows bright and green, But now he sings of heartache, where joy has never been. His wings are heavy with the burden of his grief, Every note he plucks, a search for sweet relief. (Chorus) Oh, bird with your guitar, play your song of woe, Every chord you strum, my heart feels your sorrow. At my window, you cry, in the still of the night, Sharing your agony, in the pale moonlight. (Bridge) He sings of days gone by, when his lover's eyes would shine, But now those days are shadows, lost in the mists of time. He perches on my sill, with his guitar held tight, Pouring out his soul, to the silent, listening night. (Chorus) Oh, bird with your guitar, play your song of woe, Every chord you strum, my heart feels your sorrow. At my window, you cry, in the still of the night, Sharing your agony, in the pale moonlight. (Outro) So play on, little bird, let your sorrow fly, Through the midnight air, beneath the starry sky. For in your mournful melody, there's a bittersweet peace, A moment shared in silence, where our aching hearts find ease. [outro]