Sometimes I feel like a tiny weeny birdie
That cannot fly high no matter how I try
Someday I may reach that head of flowery branch
But someone may shoot me for his lunch
When I am high, I will discover
That there is none to lean on, whoever
I can hardly fall asleep as night drags on
I suspect that only I am not that strong
Who knows what tomorrow will be for me?
Is happiness forever an unreachable fantasy?
Refrain
This tiny weeny little birdie of mine
It never flies high no matter how hard I try
I am only seeking a warm bosom to lie on
Am I desiring something wrong?
