Melancholy bird

A black-bird flies across the world,

singing so sorrowfully of death...

Whoever hears it, hears nothing else,

whoever hears it, hears such sadness,

they fear the sun may shine no more.

All thru' the night it rests

on the finger of death.

He caresses the bird solemnly and urges it:

Fly, my little bird! Fly, little bird!

And again it flies soaring over the world.