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A Magpie Sitting on a Broken Chair

There’s a hidden treasure nobody sees, hidden by the hills, blown by the breeze.
No-one to see it, no-one to care, but a magpie sitting on a broken chair.

And the magpie sings to the empty breeze, the breeze takes the song to the lonely trees.
The small birds gather and listen with care, to a magpie sitting on a broken chair. 

Chorus
And the magpie sings of her new-found riches - The glass and paper lying in the ditches,
Her tin-can treasure and no-one could care - But a magpie sitting on a broken chair.

The small birds rise and take to the wing, and think of their nests to be built in the spring.
No-one to see them, no-one to care, but a magpie sitting on a broken chair.

And the magpie’s song soon reaches the ears, of the people in the town but nobody hears.
No-one to listen, no-one to care, but a magpie sitting on a broken chair.

But if we listen, if we care, for the magpie’s song and the birds of the air,
We can use all the things that we threw to the breeze, save our hills and the lonely trees.

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