[Verse 1] There’s a bed that’s built for two, A chair where her husband sits, With a book in his hands, face out of view. The children are never home. They’re out, or away, or elsewhere. They’re visiting friends, pursuing a hobby, Or possibly simply not there. “Have you seen the children?” Berg asked. “Out,” said her husband. “Again?” “They’re always out.” “They’ll come back.” “When?” “When they do.” Berg considered this, then groomed her chin. And then there’s the window. Yes, the window— A peculiar pane of glass. It follows Berg from room to room As if it’s joined her class. In the bedroom, it shows the garden; In the kitchen, a street appears. In the bath, the moon shines bright at noon— The view changes with her career! [Chorus] Oh, the window follows Berg! Wherever Berg may go! From the kitchen to the snow! We can watch her wash a whisker, Watch her chase a speck. We think of cream and sunshine— She chooses what comes next! Oh, the window follows Berg! And we’re delighted that it does. She may not say she likes an audience— But we suspect she rather does! [Verse 2] She’ll stare at a blank white wall, A sage with a thought profound, Pondering the whole universe Without making a sound. “Terrible architecture,” she murmurs While dreaming the night away. We laugh. She opens one sleepy eye. “What?” “Nothing,” we think. “Okay.” We’ve discovered a curious talent: Our thoughts can sometimes get through. Think of a sunbeam, and off she goes. Think of cream, and her ears perk, too. Think of a door she’s ignored for years, And she’ll inspect it with great care. We offer suggestions; she makes the choice— And sometimes she takes us there. [Chorus] Oh, the window follows Berg! Wherever Berg may go! From the kitchen to the snow! We can watch her wash a whisker, Watch her chase a speck. We think of cream and sunshine— She chooses what comes next! Oh, the window follows Berg! And we’re delighted that it does. She may not say she likes an audience— But we suspect she rather does! [Verse 3] One Tuesday morning, the house was quiet. The children were nowhere around. Berg sat on the bed and surveyed the room As silence settled down. “It’s too quiet,” she said to her husband. “You could sleep.” “I have.” “You could eat.” “I’ve eaten.” “You could come and sit here.” “Perhaps,” said Berg— Then promptly retreated. She wandered the hall with a swish of her tail. We thought of the birds in the garden. She stopped. “What are you thinking about?” We tried to look completely unbothered. “Someone is thinking about birds,” she said. “Every time I enter this hall! Do you think I haven’t thoughts of my own? Must you suggest something every time I crawl?” We thought of a blanket, a sunbeam, a bed— A comfortable hollow to follow. Her tail gave a flick. “Manipulative!” Then she went to the kitchen. We followed. [Comic Interlude] A spoon on the counter. A paw in the air. A flick of the wrist— And the spoon’s over there! CLATTER! We heard it hit the floor. Berg purred. We adored her. She knocked down one more. [Verse 4] The children stayed elsewhere, as usual— At practice, at friends’, on the roam. One had a lesson, one had a reason, One might have forgotten the way home. There were always explanations: A train, a friend, a missed call. “I meant to call”—well, that explained Absolutely nothing at all. Berg heard their names and looked toward the door, Then settled back into her chair. She missed them, of course, in her own feline way— And trusted they’d turn up somewhere. Her husband turned pages. The garden grew gold. We thought of belonging and home. Berg looked up at the window: “You’re doing it again.” We thought of a warm place to roam. She purred. We took that as grace. [Bridge] We can’t make her dance. We can’t make her sing. We can’t make her fetch us A single small thing. We can wish for a sunbeam, We can think of a bird; She’ll follow a thought When it suits her, not us. She sleeps through sunshine or gives us a stare. We’re terribly fond of her. She knows we’re there. [Final Chorus] Oh, the window follows Berg! Wherever Berg may go! Through the kitchen and the hallway, Past the moon and stars aglow! We can watch her wash a whisker, Watch her chase a speck. We can think of cream and sunshine, But she chooses what comes next! Oh, the window follows Berg! And we’re delighted that it does. She may not say she likes an audience— But we suspect she rather does! The window follows Berg! The window follows Berg! And we wouldn’t change a thing. [Outro] Three turns on the bed, Then a curl and a sigh. The stars fill the window. The night settles by. “Good night,” whispers Berg. We wonder who she means. She opens one eye: “And stop thinking so loudly.” She tucks in her nose, Her tail at her chest. The window stays open. The stars twinkle on. Good night, lovely Berg. We’ll see you at dawn. The window follows Berg. And we’re happy to follow along.
