It must be great to be a bird,
To sail upon the open wind,
To glide upon the hidden sea,
And spread your wings through gales of dreams.
It must be great to be a bird.
And if it were a way to live,
A hawk is what you’d find most fair:
The fearless eye and crook of beak
And life upon the rocky peaks.
To peer down miles and spy your prey,
And swoop down low to steal away.
A hawk is what you’d find most fair.
The eagle strong upon the crag
Of stones, white cold and dew drenched cliffs
From which majestic wings are spread.
Upon the clouds and in the stars
He makes his nest and from there soars.
The eagle nesting on the crag.
And condor, brave condor, ugly bird.
Yet of strange beauty to behold.
And with so few, all they, like gold,
Are treasured in free captivity.
Yet science, in wisdom, cannot say
If condor will live or just exist
In extinct solitude of books.
Condor, brave condor, ugly bird.
It must be great to be a bird,
To sail upon the open wind,
To glide upon the hidden sea,
And spread your wings through gales of dreams.
It must be great to be a bird.