If I were an owl, flying high,
  what would I think, what would I think if I
  saw me* dancing, dancing
  high on a hill, alone in the dark,
  under a star-filled sky?

  If I were an owl hunting for mice, so crunchy, so sweet,
  what would I think, what would I think if I
  heard me singing, singing
  high on a hill, alone in the dark,
  under a star-bright sky?

'No moon! No moon!' I might cry, if I
were an owl, 'She can't be a witch
for there's no moon,
she's too many clothes,
she's got no broom,
and she can't fly!

If I were an owl and I heard me sing, singing a song
in a tongue unknown, I would sing too,
and my wordless song would come echoing back
from the nearby hills to me dancing, dancing
there on the starlit track.

If I were an owl, soaring high, what would I see?
What I would see, if I saw me, is a fat old lady
in too many clothes (it's cold enough, tha certainly knows)
doing her thing, with a light-full heart,
under a star-filled sky


*If you are confused about who
is the owl and who is 'me' I can
only say: it's OK, you're meant to be.