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STARLINGS

Riding with my family in a ‘58 Buick
I can still recall
How we’d drive through the valley
To my Grandmother’s house
Every summer vacation
When I was small
And I’d gaze out the window
At the farms and the orchards
And the sound of our motor
Would frighten the starlings
And they’d rise from the fields to fly

My mother would grumble
“Those birds are a curse
They’re a thorn in the farmers” side
But I couldn’t help feeling sad and inspired
By their desperate ballet in the sky

Chorus
Say a prayer for the starlings
A hot, dry wind beats their ragged wings
Have a thought for the starlings
No one ever listens to the songs they sing
Say a prayer for the starlings
There’s no welcome for them anywhere
Leave some crumbs for the starlings
They say that Winter will be cold this year

She was sitting on a curb by the Seven Eleven®
She asked if I had some spare change
Her skin wore that leathered and windburned look
And the light in her blue eyes was wild and strange
I sat down beside her and asked her her name
She said, “pick one you like, I need something to eat”
And her life made me think
Of the dead leaves in Autumn
Drifting like ghosts down the street

Is the life that we celebrate only a dream
A lie that we serve like a god made of stone
And our hearts are the hunter
Birds with no nesting place
Weary and aching for home

Chorus

Written By Randy Stonehill
© 1989 Stonehillian Music/Word Music (a div. of Word, Inc.)/ASCAP