This little bird, singing her song.

No-one ever said she's singing it wrong.

She sits on a branch, the branch on a tree.
Some leaves are brown, some are green.


CHORUS:

Who ever taught this bird to fly.

She spreads her wings and she takes to the sky.

What does she hear in her tiny head.
Every word her creator said.


Oooh Oooh.. Oooh Oooh..

Winter comes, Rains. Pours.
Little bird. little bird. In the storm.


Little bird builds a nest of her own.

Twigs, branches, pebbles and stones.

Laughs, cries, screams, moans.
Makes new life from her tiny bones.

From her tiny bones.

To crake this shell, it hurts like hell.
These little birds, gotta sing their song.
No-one's gonna say they're singing it wrong.
No-one's gonna say they're singing it wrong.


This little bird sips in the breeze,
Sighs it out, a symphony.

CHORUS:

Who ever taught this bird to fly?

She spreads her wings and she takes to the sky.

What does she hear in her tiny head?
Every word her creator said.

Oooh Oooh.. Oooh Oooh.. Oooh Oooh..