She's going to throw a fit,
when she finds out that the birds aren't fed,
and she'll hold the sharpest knife,
to all the promises I gave.
Hold the phone,
and take a deep breath.
The birds they flew away,
as soon as the cold winter came,
the flowers they hid,
beneath the white snow lid.
They went your way,
are you OK?
Will you keep them fed?
Is it OK,
can you keep them safe?
