[Instrumental Intro — 8 bars, no vocals] [Sparse fingerpicked acoustic guitar] [No drums] [Verse 1 — soft, conversational] Down a dusty road, where the cottonwoods bend, There stood a little store, at the edge of town. A green-winged parrot on a cedar stand, Watching the sun go down on the grocer’s hands. He knew every customer, every coin and name, Every creak in the floor, every winter rain. Till one warm afternoon, one glass slipped low— Rose oil on the boards, with nowhere left to go. [Chorus — gentle, memorable, unhurried] Don’t judge a heart by the shape it wears. Don’t name a soul by the wounds it bears. A mirror shows the face the light shines through— But it never tells the whole truth about you. [Verse 2 — restrained, slightly darker] The grocer turned red, and his mercy ran thin. A heavy hand fell, and the silence came in. The bird lost his feathers. The bird lost his song. The shop grew colder as the days grew long. No morning whistle. No bright refrain. Only dust in the window and the sound of rain. The parrot stayed quiet on his cedar stand— Like a little green shadow in a sorrowful land. [Chorus — fuller, but still restrained] Don’t judge a heart by the shape it wears. Don’t name a soul by the wounds it bears. A mirror shows the face the light shines through— But it never tells the whole truth about you. [Bridge — music strips back; bass and one light brush] [Leave a full pause before the dialogue] Then a bald old traveler paused by the door. The parrot looked down at the dusty floor. In a dry little whisper, he broke his silence: “Friend... Did you spill rose oil somewhere on your travels?” [Short instrumental pause] The traveler looked up. The grocer looked away. The bird found his voice at the close of day. Two bees may drink from the very same rose— One leaves you honey. One leaves you a sting. [Final Chorus — gradual pedal steel enters] Don’t judge a heart by the shape it wears. Don’t name a soul by the wounds it bears. Your story is not the measure of mine— Nor every dark road a sign of decline. A mirror shows the face the light shines through— But it never tells the whole truth about you. No... It never tells the whole truth about you. [Outro — fading acoustic guitar and distant pedal steel] The scent of the rose stayed deep in the wood. The bird sang again when the morning was good. So look twice, stranger, before you call it wrong— Some souls lose their feathers before they find their song. [Instrumental fade to silence]
