(White Bird Of Texas)

The last time I spoke to my aunt before she died

She was describing to me this incredible owl

That was sitting in a tree

It meant nothing to me

But it means a lot more now

Because I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting for the bird

I'm waiting, I'm ready, I know it is my turn

All those cigarettes, alcohol, this body's through

You're gone for sure when the bird comes for you

And the last time I spoke to my uncle before he died

It was the very same week, but one year before her

He was sitting alone in his study, on the phone

When a giant hawk flew by

Said,