I wander, if it's a song of spring or a cry for love, if it's the joy of rain or the empty appetite, if it's the new nest or the scorching heat of the sun, And perhaps I will never know Even though I want to hear you sing If I want to see you dance, and listen to your song and not get washed by your tears or ache my heart on your suffering, will I actually listen? Will I listen to you or silence myself? So, O Birds, Sing, pour what's on your heart out for my heart's been ever empty sing your rains and sing your sorrow for now I've learned how to listen, Oh Birds, sing your nests and sing your tears.