Flying above the sky, the lonely Dove.
It hovers and waits, but its mate is late.
What shall it do?
Parade around, looking for who?
Day grows darker, the stars brightening.
The lonely Dove is fighting.
What shall it do?
With a flash of lightning, it hides away.
Only to see the late mate it's been waiting for.
It's stuck out in the storm.
It's not very warm.
The wind grows strong and the battle rages on.
What shall it do?
What if it's wrong?
Oh, poor, late mate. It's gone...