When I was a child, an inch was a mile, each passing day, felt like a year
And now I'm here, where time is fleet, it's short but sweet and that seems fair
Along the way, I have to say, I caused some hurt, that I can't mend
And to that end, I came up short, if I were smart, I'd have left it right there

There's this one little bird in the trees outside my door
And she's singing a song that goes right to the core
She says where will you go where will you be
Why don't you know why can't you see it's almost over

I've seen the end of a rainbow through a greyhound window
Blue northern lights cross a prairie sky
When a drink of cool water from a dried-up mountain spring
Says as much about anything as the fifth of July
You need to ask yourself why

The name is Crowell, no harm no foul, unless of course, I've been unkind
With that in mind, I rest my case, no axe to grind is my saving grace
And I've been put in my place

By this one little bird in all the trees outside my door
And she's singing a song that cuts right to the core
She says where will you go where will you be
Why don't you know why can't you see it's almost over

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): Rodney Crowell