Diego Valdes

 

Cuckoo, cuckoo,

the bird sings its song with glee,

sitting inside that wooden house

to stay forever, or so it seems.

 

Cuckoo, it’s time to go to work,

cuckoo, it’s time to go to sleep,

I’m never early, and never late,

as the bird always calls onto me.

 

Cuckoo, cuckoo,

the bird produces its angelic chime

its melody stays the exact same,

and so does every day and night.

 

Cuckoo, calls out the bird,

never singing its melody wrong,

I hear it as each hour goes by,

and I always try to sing along.

 

Cuckoo, cuckoo,

The bird squeals with its beak

I keep wondering how a year

now only feels like last week.

 

Cuckoo, now it’s day,

cuckoo, now it’s night,

I look back and it’s tomorrow,

another day, gone from my life.

 

Cuckoo, cuckoo,

every single second slipping away,

fading off to who-knows-where,

where it’ll never return my way.

 

And as the bird cuckoos again

and I reach for what I long,

it flies as fast as a string of light

to never sing another song.