Midnight Black Bird

She sings for the good times, she sings for the bad.
She sings when she’s happy, she sings when she’s sad.
Our Midnight Black Bird she sings her own song.
Her voice is like magic, her tones hot and strong.

She sings at the club just down the street,
where jazz fills the air with it’s grooves and it’s beat.
Dark and smoky, a cool candle flame,
the boys in the band all whisper her name.

She sings to the moon, she sings to her man,
she sings to the angels because she can.
Our Midnight Black Bird she sings her own song,
her voice is like magic, her tones hot and strong.

Her hair black as midnight sways with each move,
her eyes close with passion, she’s now in the groove.
Her tones pierce my heart, bring tears to my eyes
and make me aware of my fears and my lies.
Our Midnight Black Bird she sings her own song,
her voice is like magic, her tones hot and strong.
Jane Johnson