This little blue bird flies every morning and night searching for the life
of love and hope since she has no sight of home.

She flies blind into the night, whistles from height to height.
Hoping for summer love in the winter,
Searching for the red rose in the spring.

But her rose has long past wilted,
Her love has quickly chilled.
She flies alone in the winter night,
Hesitating to turn her head in the light
She fears she'll see her death coming right.

Outside my door I hear her close,
Singing all her heart's might.
This little bird whistles to all who hear.
But of course, she sings-but no song
Is ever given to her own.

This bird flies in the night,
Sad but true, this loveless one
May never feel the love that once belonged.