I hear them each and every morn'
arriving at the crack of dawn.
They're right outside my window pane
some, perched atop the weather vane.

Their singing fills the morning air,
their songs pitched high and crystal clear.
Why do they have so much to say?
Who do they talk to anyway?
They visit, eat, then fly away,
and almost never stay all day.

But it's too late, I'm wide awake,
the head, the back, the neck... all ache
They woke me from a deep, deep sleep
from bed to kitchen 's a long, slow creep.