Tales told on a blue bird's wing,
reveal the truth of the old, wooden swing
He sits in an oak,
and he grows on a string
When you look in his past, you'll see when he was king

The children all swung in the air over grass
It was green and pristine
and it grew in a mass
But the jack-'o-lantern smiles grew new teeth far too fast
Soon, the old, wooden swing was a thing of the past

All the grass grew much taller, and soon turned into weeds
And the old wooden swing only swung in the breeze
Not a child who smiled, no more sets of skinned knees
Now the old, wooden swing felt useless in the trees

Alone, he sat waiting for the kids he once knew
But they had their own lives, and the swing turned so blue
He was lost in the sky as they shared the same hue
And the swing said goodbye when he finally flew