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(White Bird Of Texas)The last time I spoke to my aunt before she diedShe was describing to me this incredible owlThat was sitting in a treeIt meant nothing to meBut it means a lot more nowBecause I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting for the birdI'm waiting, I'm ready, I know it is my turnAll those cigarettes, alcohol, this body's throughYou're gone for sure when the bird comes for youAnd the last time I spoke to my uncle before he diedIt was the very same week, but one year before herHe was sitting alone in his study, on the phoneWhen a giant hawk flew bySaid, "I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting for the bird,I didn't expect to be noticed or heard. Oh, Elizabeth, help me, I can't find the room,You're gone for sure when the bird comes for you."And, oh, it is scaryAnd, oh, it is cold to the boneMy body's not ready for my mind to learnI have just been consigned here to rot in the earthSaid, "I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting for the bird,It comes in and takes you away from this world.Gate twenty-seven, I can't find the room.You're free to board now, they're waiting for you."I'm waiting, I'm waiting, I'm waiting for the birdI've seen it three times now, there's nothing to learnAnd don't be surprised if the sky's bright and blueAnd the white bird of Texas comes barreling through