The way I feel is like a robin,
Whoses birds have flown [bad word] no more,
Like a tall oak-tree, alone and cryin',
When the birds have flown and the nest is bare.
Now a woman, Lord, is like a young bird,
And the tall oak-tree is a young man's heart.
Among its branches, you'll find her nesting
When the nights are cool, she is warm and dry.
In leaves of green they will protect her,
Her wings will grow, your love will too
But all too soon your mighty branches
Will fail to hold her, she'll fly from you.
The way I feel is like a robin,
Whoses birds have flown [bad word] no more,
Like a tall oak-tree, alone and cryin',
When the birds have flown and the nest is bare.