In the early early misty Spring morning.
I hear the solo red wing black bird sing.
It goes on and on and on.
But the solo red wing black bird I cannot see.
It sounds like an earnest mournful cry.
But no reply.
No reply.

The sounds of trucks passing by
Drown out his solitary mournful cry.
A solo red wing black bird song.
Where are you?
Where are you?
Don’t you hear?
Don’t you hear?
My mournful cry.
My earnest plea.
But no reply.
No reply.

There once were many sweet replies.
There once were many sweet replies.
From the marsh reeds they used to fly.
Oh, let me look over this tree top.
I see no marshes, no reeds, no trees.
I see no marshes, no reeds, no trees.
Only new rooftops and new rooftops
As far as my eye can see.
Who is going to hear my mournful cry?
Who is going to answer my earnest plea.
A solo red wing black bird song

When am I going to hear the sweet replies?
When am I going to hear the sweet replies?
I have to go now another marsh to find
And sing my solo red wing black bird song.
Maybe someone will hear my mournful cry.
Maybe someone will hear my earnest plea.
Maybe in a marsh somewhere
A pretty red wing black bird will hear
My springtime song and come to me,
Come to me.