There are two little black birds sitting on a tree: One named Patra, One named Pauline
Cry away Patra, your sorrows and your worries,
Your doubts and your concerns,
Your fears and your reservations.
Don’t tell Pauline, don’t tell her.
Smile away Pauline, the three has thorns
The leaves are brown and the fruits are stale,
The hawk can see you and Patra is pale.
Don’t show Patra, don’t show her.
Come back Patra, wipe your tears,
Be happy patra, the hawk is on holiday
The branch is shaky but Pauline may catch you
Lean on her wings, lean on her.
Come back Pauline, don’t leave her
The shaky branch is from her shivers
The hawk might come still, it’s only midday
Be strong Pauline
Be still Patra