Mockingbird, in the tree,
will you spread your wings for me?
Will you sing and call and fly,
through the trees and to the sky,
soaring where none dare to go,
but the mockingbird happens to know,
the secrets to freedom,
the knowledge of life,
cutting the air,
sharp as a knife.
He closes his wings,
with their felt white tips,
as I put a finger to my lips.
The secrets and knowledge of life itself,
are better sought out by yourself,
but I will find out happily,
if you raise your wings for me.