On the Branches Rest Assured

On the branches, his rest is assured, Comes the flight of the little song bird. In all things, profound, and heard, This is the creature, that has the last word.   Listen to him, as he chirps away... Only to never come back, some day? He flies off, into the air... Where ever he goes, without a care.   Time marches on, and winter comes to. The birdie's gone, and so are you. The bird came back the following spring. But this time, his song, he didn't sing.   I'm still waiting for the day to come true. When I can fly off, and come join with you. Then I'll sing the song that can't be heard. Just like that tiny, little, lonely song bird.