Young Birds Fly

Mary's not the Mary of yesterday
She's gone with changing her hair
She laughs and she cries
And her mind seems to be
A worried and jumbled affair
Well, I have talked to Mary, I've searched her eyes
And if you ask of Mary she'll tell you why.
It's Mary's time to run,
With the mad, with the sane,
With the joy and the pain,
Till she finds her place in the sun.
Young birds fly in early spring
Learn new songs to sing
And each song they know can help them to grow.
Mary questions everything she's ever known before
And warn her as we may she just won't listen any more
So let her find her way and soon will come the proudest day
When everything's been sorted
Through the streets will be reported
All the people congregate to feel the love within her heart
And to listen to the music in her mind.