The Cicada Tree - Byzantine

A calendar underground

A life of slumber we won’t be found

So new to wings and to flight

Our stuttered song a proof of life to be

Overwhelmed by the instinct of the chime

Death is near and we waste no time

We are the prophets of Spring

Sound of the drums we lull to sleep

We magnify under trees

Our chorus hangs upon the breeze to hear

A calendar underground

A life of slumber we won’t be found

We magnify under trees

Our chorus hangs upon the breeze to hear