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The Calling of a Jackdaw Bird
Little bird, only in your head, do you really matter.
In your own little world, it's only you.
That's all, of course, so I look for her everyday, my love for her dragging me all the way.
I'll keep on going, solemnly begging for her lonesome touch
–within the whispers of my Jackdaw bird.
But I carry her picture, enthralled by her face.
But only in your head you wish, do you matter?
Only do you feel left behind, but carry her picture, holding it tight
–within the sorrows of her Jackdaw bird.
Picked up by the wind, calling out from beyond treetops, her little skirt lifted.
Oh bird, I've lost myself, I've got his map, but I can't keep my eyes on it.
That's all, of course, so I will pack up my things and leave for the distant warmer weather.
To the calling of that woman, her picture in my pocket
–within the pleasure of our little jackdaw bird.
© Junemousonae
In your own little world, it's only you.
That's all, of course, so I look for her everyday, my love for her dragging me all the way.
I'll keep on going, solemnly begging for her lonesome touch
–within the whispers of my Jackdaw bird.
But I carry her picture, enthralled by her face.
But only in your head you wish, do you matter?
Only do you feel left behind, but carry her picture, holding it tight
–within the sorrows of her Jackdaw bird.
Picked up by the wind, calling out from beyond treetops, her little skirt lifted.
Oh bird, I've lost myself, I've got his map, but I can't keep my eyes on it.
That's all, of course, so I will pack up my things and leave for the distant warmer weather.
To the calling of that woman, her picture in my pocket
–within the pleasure of our little jackdaw bird.
© Junemousonae
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