there s a bird fair and gold whom my owners do hold she refuses to make them a sound how it pains them to think that for me she does sing while i carry their riches around i might work in their fields bear them their meals i might carry the letters they send there s a treasure i know buried deeply below that will shatter the shovels of men there are children of theirs in the bedroom upstairs i taught them their letters and words they refuse to be heirs and inherit their share of a fortune that they never earned i might sleep in their fold do as i m told i might shepherd the young that they tend there s a silence i leave in the spaces between that will shadow the lessons of them i might meet on the shores they defend handle the money they lend i might shackle the hands they condemn there s a treasure i know buried deeply below that will shatter the shovels of men there s a bird fair and gold whom my owners do hold she refuses to make them a sound