A little bird went flying
To see the countryside

Some hunters were a' hunting
To try and catch some hide

The little bird, so innocent
Sang its song for trees
For growing is quite boring
Without simple release

The hunters started stalking
This gentle little soul
And aimed their weapons at her
In a chilly forest cold

The gunshot ringing stopped
All movement in the wood
All heads turn in sorrow
to where the small bird stood

A smoking ash, torn and burnt
Released a single song
"Remember, friends, the world is cruel
But you won't be here long"