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Beau
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Fly the Bluebird
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.
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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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