theres a bird that sings...

Theres a dead tree not far from my window,
where sometimes sits a bird by her own.

She sings of the grass which was green,
of the glory of the tree,
of her friends whom I cant see
and the place turns to a forest of laughter.

But there is a cold wind that blows,
which opens up the window
slaps me on the chest
and wakes me up from the dream.

Theres a dead tree not far from my window,
where sometimes sits a bird by her own.

VS