Lyrics
★─────────★──────────★──────────★ Original Lyrics | Musical Arrangement & Production in Studio 2.0 | Voice based on my own voice | Cover Art | Audio upload: https://suno.com/s/VXBuPtRa0w9M6pXa © Artanne - All rights reserved. ★─────────★──────────★──────────★ A little grey bird used to sing, At every break of day. A song that came straight from his heart, And drew the world his way. He sang about the morning light, And all that love could bring. And every day his simple joy, Would touch those listening. Sing, little bird, sing... Sing your own true song. Sing, little bird, sing. But one day by his tree there flew, A bird in colors bright. A golden ring hung round his neck, And caught the morning light. He drew a crowd, he drew applause, His ring shone like the sun. And though his song seemed simply made, They praised him, every one. The little grey bird watched it all, With sorrow in his eyes. He sang his own song full of fire, But no one heard his cries. A doubt began to fill his heart, Was his own song too weak? Was something wrong with how he sang Or how he moved his beak? Sing, little bird, sing... Sing your own true song. Sing, little bird, sing. He listened to the nightingale, The crow, the magpie, sparrow too. He filled his singing catalogue, With every sound they knew. He sang the grandest song he could, Though none of it was his noise. He earned applause and larger crowds, But paid for it with his voice. Sing, little bird, sing... Sing your own true song. Sing, little bird, sing. But on a cold bleak autumn day, No one came near his tree. They all stayed hidden from the cold, And left him there to be. His throat was raw, his body tired, So then he made a choice. He tried to sing his own old song, But nothing left his voice.... The melody that once had made, His spirit rise and glow, The song that came from deep within, And touched the hearts below. He lost it somewhere on the way, When praise became his aim. And now, when he most needed it, His song was not the same. For weeks he hid himself away, And stopped mimicking songs. Until a fragment slowly stirred, Where his true melody belongs. Sing, little bird, sing... Sing your own true song. Sing, little bird, sing. © Artanne - 2026