• Every year my mother told me
    Not to wait for Santa by the Christmas tree
    And I never did. Not any year
    But one I heard something a little queer
    I felt excited and full of fear
    Because it didn't sound like Santa.

    The sound sounded like a "tweet tweet tweet"
    Not Santa's jolly Ho
    I lifted the cover off my feet
    Because I desperately wanted to know

    I quickly trotted down the stairs
    Only for my eyes to see
    A delicate, tiny, fluffy bird
    Down by the Christmas tree

    He had a tiny orange beak
    And feathers the colour of snow
    He told me that Santa sent him
    And wanted no one to know

    He left some presents under the tree
    Most of them were for me
    I haven't told anyone yet
    And birds can't read I bet

    But just know every year sitting next to the Xmas tree
    It's not always Santa that you'll see
    But just remember, you dind't hear it from me