28 July 2012
Sing a song of sixpence A pocket full of rye, Four and twenty blackbirds Baked into a pie,
But what we didn't know About the feast fit for a king The birds follow the Queen and obey And she summons them when she sings
She takes care of the blackbirds, While eating bread and honey, The king sits in the counting house, Counting all his money.
She plots and plans against him, With the blackbirds at her side, The foul and dirty deeds she brews, She feels she has to hide.
The maid is in the backyard, Hanging out the clothes. She hears the plot so the Queen commands And the birds peck off her nose.
Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, Baked into a pie.
Blackbird • Opuss № I