IF I HAD A MOCKINGBIRD
FOR EVERY TEAR I’VE SHED
THE SKIES WOULD RAIN WITH LAUGHTER
EVERY TIME I RAISED MY HEAD
AND EVERY DROP WOULD BE A TEAR
THAT FELL UPON THE GROUND
UNTIL THE WATERS ROSE SO HIGH
THAT I MUST SURELY DROWN
AND IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
AND NO HINT OF SPRING
YES IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
WHEN THE MOCKINGBIRDS SING
WHEN I USED TO WALK THIS EARTH
BENEATH THE HARVEST MOON
ALL THE HEAVENS ROSE ABOVE ME
SILENT AS A TOMB
NOW THE SKIES ARE FILLED WITH NOISE
THE MOONLIGHT WEARS A SHROUD
BLACK ENOUGH TO BURY
EVERY BROKEN UGLY VOW
AND IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
AND NO HINT OF SPRING
YES IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
WHEN THE MOCKINGBIRDS SING
IF I HAD A MOCKINGBIRD
FOR EVERY LIE I FOUND
THE SKY WOULD FILL WITH LAUGHTER
‘TIL IT SHATTERED FROM THE SOUND
AND EVERY PIECE THAT FELL TO EARTH
WOULD LAND WITH SUCH A SPARK
THAT FINALLY THERE’D BE FLAME ENOUGH
TO WARM MY BROKEN HEART
AND IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
AND NO HINT OF SPRING
YES IT’S COLD, COLD, COLD
WHEN THE MOCKINGBIRDS SING