Those birds who want to try their wings against the odds of nature
who want to explore the working of the wind
Are now afraid to fly in open skies.
They know the one who'll hunt them down, and they
also knowwhich net,
But who knows what scheme he's hatching and on which
branch he'll start.
Hunters...blind as their consciences...hunters that
seek to silence
The growing chorus of birds in the branches...
Set out to open every door of tyranny they can.
O Lord!
Even trees are now frozen with fear
As their branches wait for the fruit of voices
Who'll protect those birds who need to fly
In open skies with the shadow of your grace.
Grace them with the season of deliverance