I woke early one morming,
The earth lay cool and still,
When suddenly a tiny bird,
Perched on my window-sill.
He sang a song so lovely,
So carefree and so gay,
That suddenly my troubles,
Began to slip away.
He sang of far-off places,
Of laughter and of fun,
It seemed his very trilling,
Brought up the morning sun.
I stirred beneath the covers,
Crept slowly out of bed,
Then gently shut the window,
And crushed his f*cking head.
I'm not a morning person.