The sparrow she weeps, wakes the tired from sleep at dawn.
But every good songbird needs a ballad to sing – this is her’s.
And though she is mourning, though she is mourning the night
Let it be morning. Let it morning, my love.
And she’ll fly away
Leave you lying awake
Straight ahead, canvas purple and red, sets the night.
Silence will fall like a veil over all as we part.
And though you’ll be mourning, though you’ll be mourning the light
Wait for the morning. Wait for the morning, my love.
It will rise.
We’ll let day break.
The sparrow returned wearing feather both tempted and tried.
Her breath marked my words, got them caught in my throat with a sigh.
She taught me of love and of passion, of heart, and desire.
She said all we need is someone who we seek to inspire.
So keep me in mind.
It’s hard to keep down these feelings - they swell in my tongue.
But every good songbird needs a ballad to sing – this is mine.
And though I am mourning, though I am mourning the night
Let it be morning. Let it be morning, my love.