A young thrush full of ferver
Full of that singing zeal
So finely imitated the goldfinch
As if he were of the same breed
Those who heard him singing spoke well of him
When the woods rang with his song
But himself he deemed it little he wanted greater fame
He envied the song of the nightingale
Just wait and I'll show
That also my tongue
If it gets used to the quaver
Can strike up the same song
Well, he was right in a way
His song was rather new
Now he bleated like an old goat
Now was it like a kitten's miaow
All this as if to scare away the audience
But this song thrush deemed it beautiful he was proud of himself
It occured to him what he once had thought
Just wait and I'll show
That also my tongue
If it gets used to the quaver
Can strike up the same song
It's better if you sing in your own way
Than if you mess up others' strains
It's better if you sing in your own way
But this song thrush deemed it little he wanted greater fame
He envied the song of the nightingale
Just wait and I'll show
That also my tongue
If it gets used to the quaver
Can strike up the same song
