A bird in your hand is worth three in a tree
The burden of man is an imperial decree
Cast down upon the lowly
The tree withers with blight
The lowly see the tree as hope
But the avid see all as trite
One form of trite gives way to another
But the new form of trite leads all forms to blunder
Blunder across the land leaves no room trees
And a treeless isolation breeds new formed disease
Disease of the mind
Disease of the heart
Disease that will multiply
Til death do us part
The only real cure for this plague is the bird
The absence of trees means that life has deterred
But the absence of life leaves no room for the bird
For without that bird
All hope is forsaken
The bird stands for peace
But its life has been taken
A bird in your hand is like the greed of man
Like the man who lost all when he built his house on sand
But the birds in the tree
Equals peace in across the land
Without that bird
No Man can stand
And we will never see peace
With that bird in your hand
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