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Birds rest on the telephone wire,
in long rows they sit and conspire.
About each other's journey and flight,
they surely are a commonplace sight.
You'll see them in the bustling cities,
even through the smog they still seem pretty.
Perched on a wire high in the sky,
watching the passing cars go by.
They sit on the country wires, too,
behind a sky of bright sea blue.
Above the farms of flourishing green,
they cover the wires like you've never seen.
And on the warm, bright summer days,
their feathers in the sunshine blaze.
And on the days of snow and cold,
they hold their wings beside them close.
No matter what the world may be,
in good or bad or war or peace.
Through tribulation of ice and fire,
birds still sit on the telephone wire.