Four birds in a row perched on the wire.
Eight dots black as coal on either side,
Till one flies up, higher.
Three wing to wing as the day is long,
Each one conversate on and on,
Till one flies up higher.
With each on his own,
Where will the love come from?
With all gone but one,
Where will the love come from?
Two birds sing, one with a red-flecked wing seen for miles,
Two birds ring as each had his friend tucked by his side,
Until one flies up higher.
One bird all alone, perched on the wire,
One bird wears his song sung sans desire,
Until he flies up higher.
With each on his own,
Where will the love come from?
With all gone but one,
Where will the love come from?
Where will the love come from?
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