I dreamt I was playing my songs in an old musty theatre
for hundreds of sparrows
The theatre was rundown and unkempt
but with an air of faded elegance
The front doors were open to a gray sky and it was raining The sparrows, almost as big as men were quiet
Row upon row of piercing eyes
and tilted heads
in red crushed velvet seats,
their wings obscuring the arm rests

When I finished playing they started to
sing and flew out the front door
I packed up my guitar and went somewhere
sparrows seldom go
I wonder if their still singing those old songs