Hope is the things with feathers that perches in the soul
Sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all
All
The sweetest in the gale is heard, and so must be the storm
That could abash the little bird that kept so many warm
Kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea
Yet never in extremity, it asked a crumb of me
It asked a crumb of me
Hope is the things with feathers that perches in the soul
Sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all
All
The sweetest in the gale is heard, and so must be the storm
That could abash the little bird that kept so many warm
Kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea
Yet never in extremity, it asked a crumb of me
