The birds are talking about my soul,
They look for words and set a goal:
To give me a name by the end of the day…
They sing and pray…

Along the flight the birds are counting
The feathers lost to me, still mounting
The steps with grass, on clouds of grey.
They sing and pray…

So strange a look have things I see,
I know them not. They seem to know me.
I feel I’m lost, but they want me to stay.
They sing and pray…

There seems to be no meaning to words,
The silence I chase is now full of birds,
Which fade, one by one, in the red of the day.
They sing. I pray...