Right now the sky is turning into fire,
Right now the earth is turning into ash;
So slow, the clouds are burning in the embers,
So slow the whip will lash.
So high will fly the bluebird.
So low will come the rumble from the mountain;
So deep will lie the water in the well;
So dark will roll the sky at the horizon,
So far as I can tell.
So high will fly the bluebird.
So young, these little children we are bearing,
So young in whom to trust the world to come;
So strange, the world is theirs and yours no longer;
So strange to be so young.
So high will fly the bluebird.
So right to be the start and not the ending,
So right to be the one with life to come;
So slow in understanding one another;
So strange to be so young.
So high will fly the bluebird.
Right now the sky is turning into fire,
Right now this earth is turning into ash;
So slow, the clouds are burning in the embers,
So slow the whip will lash.
So high will fly the bluebird.

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