Little birds. Fast hearts.
Little birds. Fast hearts.
They'll leave you in the cold,
but they'll come back in the Spring.
Even when they’re sad they sing.
Little birds. Fast hearts.
Little birds. Fast hearts.
They'll sing for you and eat your bugs.
It's the tiny strips of tin foil that
they keep away from, but not the
baths they're taking in the day's sun,
and when they've taken all that they can take
they fly away...fly, fly, fly away.
Little birds. Fast hearts.
Little birds. Fast hearts.
They'll sing for you and eat your bugs.