Seven little parrots in a tree outside
The colours of their feathers change like traffic lights
Snowflakes are falling on the ground
And a feather is whirling without a sound

Sometimes in a dream I walk a snow-white street
I can hear somebody whisper underneath my feet
A needle is scratching a rubber soul
In the ice on the river a big black hole

And now that I am looking at this naked tree
I feel every branch is a bone inside me
The boy who is climbing without a sound
And the man who is standing on the ground

So seven green parrots are flying away
They leave me in the grey light closing down this winter's day
The snowflakes are falling on the ground
And a feather is whirling without a sound