I wonder I wonder: What song she will sing The little bird — grey with a clip on each wing. A whistle of whimsy or Whisper of woe — The little grey bird with cages for wings?
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What will what will The little thing sing With no colors to choose from — but her master’s old things. Perhaps broken sunlight or The parade of clothes — The ones from the faces that come and never go?
I wonder I wonder If ever she’ll sing The little bird — untainted but doesn’t know a thing. A tale of envy or Fable from home — The little bird — grey caged to her throne?
