He lives his life in a prison;
his feathers, emerald green.
And he tries to figure out
what his life is all about-
just as he sings himself to sleep.
He watches the people passing
in all their glamour and pride.
And he loses track of time,
and he sings when he gets tired of it all
And they smile
They smile
I try to figure out how he does it,
'cause here in my prison
I am apathy and black and white.
Try to keep m passion bright,
but I'm tired.
I'm tired.
I sing my song in the city,
where the songbirds don't fly,
and I tell the tale alone.
I'm so far away from home
I wanna sing for the songbird
'til I die.
'til I die.

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