Born a peasant mountain lion
Laying in the snow
Find your brother not moving
Push him with your nose
Watch him falling from the mountain
Far away from home
The birds find the lion on the ground
Drag him to the farm
A sky bleeds from the lion's mouth
As they cross the barn
Find the old farmer crying
Staring at the pelt
He stares out
How sad not to remember a face
How sad not to see it everyday
When you close my eyes, to love someone for life
And no longer have it memorized
There was a woman who spoke to me
Her beautiful voice and poetry
I took it, committed it to memory
But it was never real
I pretended it to be
How sad not to hear music bleed from the streets
Every morning
Every morning
The past bleeding from my brain
Every morning
"I have seen milk from a thistle, utters, the breast of a mother, almonds, coconuts, and oats
Kids kissing and swimming in rivers
A million mailboxes with letters dripping blood
The face of a friend go pale while lying in my limbs
The bluest shores and the greenest gorge
Weeping at the beauty of this earth
I have grown old and I have no plans
I have seen life come from everything that blows in the wind
I have seen life end from everything that crows in the wind
And stays still
And that's some awfully real blood
That's a terrifyingly real pelt
Under this hurtful, piercing sun
I never knew death was so real
And that's some guilt...."
Quentin Mitchell - A Little Bird, Pt. 2 Lyrics
Quentin Mitchell - A Little Bird, Pt. 2 Lyrics
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Born a peasant mountain lion
Laying in the snow
Find your brother not moving
Push him with your nose
Watch him falling from the mountain
Far away from home
The birds find the lion on the ground
Drag him to the farm
A sky bleeds from the lion's mouth
As they cross the barn
Find the old farmer crying
Staring at the pelt
He stares out
How sad not to remember a face
How sad not to see it everyday
When you close my eyes, to love someone for life
And no longer have it memorized
There was a woman who spoke to me
Her beautiful voice and poetry
I took it, committed it to memory
But it was never real
I pretended it to be
How sad not to hear music bleed from the streets
Every morning
Every morning
The past bleeding from my brain
Every morning
"I have seen milk from a thistle, utters, the breast of a mother, almonds, coconuts, and oats
Kids kissing and swimming in rivers
A million mailboxes with letters dripping blood
The face of a friend go pale while lying in my limbs
The bluest shores and the greenest gorge
Weeping at the beauty of this earth
I have grown old and I have no plans
I have seen life come from everything that blows in the wind
I have seen life end from everything that crows in the wind
And stays still
And that's some awfully real blood
That's a terrifyingly real pelt
Under this hurtful, piercing sun
I never knew death was so real
And that's some guilt...."
Laying in the snow
Find your brother not moving
Push him with your nose
Watch him falling from the mountain
Far away from home
The birds find the lion on the ground
Drag him to the farm
A sky bleeds from the lion's mouth
As they cross the barn
Find the old farmer crying
Staring at the pelt
He stares out
How sad not to remember a face
How sad not to see it everyday
When you close my eyes, to love someone for life
And no longer have it memorized
There was a woman who spoke to me
Her beautiful voice and poetry
I took it, committed it to memory
But it was never real
I pretended it to be
How sad not to hear music bleed from the streets
Every morning
Every morning
The past bleeding from my brain
Every morning
"I have seen milk from a thistle, utters, the breast of a mother, almonds, coconuts, and oats
Kids kissing and swimming in rivers
A million mailboxes with letters dripping blood
The face of a friend go pale while lying in my limbs
The bluest shores and the greenest gorge
Weeping at the beauty of this earth
I have grown old and I have no plans
I have seen life come from everything that blows in the wind
I have seen life end from everything that crows in the wind
And stays still
And that's some awfully real blood
That's a terrifyingly real pelt
Under this hurtful, piercing sun
I never knew death was so real
And that's some guilt...."
Writer: Quentin Mitchell
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid