The birds are back

It was already winter when we both arrived in Kettering in October, and it was still pretty much like winter when we left in May. In the meantime, we were desperately waiting for spring to come and bring some light on our pale faces and warmth to our frozen bodies. One night in February, we were sitting in the back garden of the Peacock, a pub for angry retarded teenagers and white trash apostles, with a beer in our hands, and we heard birds singing somewhere nearby. We thought it was it: springtime would come and bring us some relief. But it was a might-have-been. The birds got it wrong with the timing and went back to England too soon. Even the birds are fucked-up there.

The birds are back way to early
I'm walking homewards in a hurry
I hear their sweet singing, i see them gather
Around stinking puddles rinsing their feathers

The birds are back, back in this country
December's called springtime
They're in for the money
Let there be nature, let's do what we do
Birds do it, bees do it, i don't have a clue

Let there be birds, let there be girls
Let there be boys, let there be words
Let there be art, let us be smart
Let them be something, let's call it a start

The birds are back way to early
I'm walking homewards in a hurry
Let them be singing, so let's get the talking
Birds are you bringing the dawn or the morning?

Let there be birds, let there be girls
Let there be boys, let there be words
Let there be art, let us be smart
Let them be something, let's call it a start

The birds are back way to soon
They are singing all in tune
The choir is admirable, the concert is on
I reach my aviary, the audience is gone