Blackbird, blackbird, where have you gone?
Here the limbs you lately danced upon,
In sunset orange, in sunset red,
Now the grapevine says, "Blackbird is dead."
Disbelieving owl cries, "Who? Who?"
Disheartened rooster won't cock-a-doodle-doo.
Nanette laid flowers on the grave.
He took but little, but much he gave.
Cardinal restless amid the greenery,
And oblivious to the usual scenery!
All the smiles have turned to cries;
Adam hangs his head and sighs.
Blackbird is dead. What happens now?
What now will the fates allow?
Will dawn now sing of this new day?
Or have Sunday's singers all gone away?
Blackbird is dead and time is creeping.
Blackbird is dead-the world is weeping.
All the worst is come to pass;
Moonlight spilling on the grass.