Unwilling to create
This ends the date
A star is born

A bit of hate
Illusions of fate
Left in the morn

Little bird, little bird
Blossomed into a blaze of colours

With only a mum
Frail and with so m-
any goods worn

Every day must come
Merry days will come
Sweeping away all the scorn

Little bird, little bird
Blossomed into a blaze of colours

And born again.