Alien

If I were a bird sitting in a tree
And heard you whistling joyfully,
I’d think I lived in an alien state
Where men their freedom do not hate.

I’d fly about and hear harsh cries
From men who march and think they’re wise;
I’d see the buildings burnt to ground
And wonder art such dumb profound.

Then if I flew back to my tree
And heard you whistling joyfully,
I’d know you were an alien man
And sing to you the best I can.

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