This bird gets tired of its weary ways,
All the troubles of the foolish world.
It wouldn't store up any more long days
For a stash of silver or for gold.
Stacking all its firewood in a pile
For another life the creature yearns!
Putting on a faded smile,
Now the poor thing starts to burn!
Slowly all the coal and sparks transform
Cooling down of burning and of blaze
And out of the ashes and brimstone comes
A new firey phoenix to start again his days!