On the terrace, by the flower bed he waits
The purple berries, extending down into the gates

And from the garden, he gives a sign and it begins
A crimson army, it floods the sky with feathers flailing

    Step back, and cover your wings
    And shuffle your body in circles
    Downtown, this sweet serenade
    Call in the cardinal brigade

The trembled whistle, it calls the messenger around
The fields of thistle, overflowing on the ground

A quiet rustle, the dry leaf crackle on the grass
And from the bustle is heard the cracking of the glass

    [Chorus]