[Intro — very dry, close] A pigeon sat on a branch. Nobody had asked him to. This was already a considerable advantage. [Verse 1] Below him a man sold umbrellas on a day without rain. Another man bought three and complained about the strain. A woman stood beside a fountain holding flowers made of steel. A committee met at half past nine to decide if they were real. The pigeon looked to the left. Then slightly to the right. This constituted his entire position on the night. [Pre-Chorus] Meanwhile, someone rang a bell for reasons no one knew. Everyone agreed it must be important. The pigeon did not move. [Chorus — oddly melodic] Pigeon on a branch, thinking nothing we can prove. Pigeon on a branch, with nowhere he must move. We build systems. We build meanings. We build ladders to the sky. He adjusts one little feather and declines to tell us why. Pigeon on a branch. Excellent. Carry on. [Verse 2] A bus arrived with no destination. People formed a queue. Nobody asked where it was going. That seemed impolite to do. A gentleman in polished shoes announced: “Tomorrow has been moved.” Everyone nodded with concern. The pigeon was unmoved. Then someone sold certificates confirming people were alive. The price was fair. The line was long. They closed at five. [Pre-Chorus] A clock fell off a building. Time continued more or less. This caused administrative problems and a certain amount of stress. [Chorus] Pigeon on a branch, thinking nothing we can prove. Pigeon on a branch, with nowhere he must move. We build systems. We build meanings. We build ladders to the sky. He adjusts one little feather and declines to tell us why. Pigeon on a branch. Excellent. Carry on. [Bridge — nearly spoken, absolutely serious] I approached the pigeon for clarification. He declined an interview. I asked: “What is the meaning of existence?” He looked behind me. Possibly at a sandwich. I cannot be certain. This was the most honest answer I received all week. [Verse 3] At noon, a man unveiled a monument to common sense. It was immediately surrounded by a temporary fence. A philosopher sold maps of places no one had to go. They sold extremely well. Nobody wanted to know. A child asked: “Why?” An adult said: “You’ll understand when you are older.” The child looked disappointed. The pigeon looked considerably older. [Break — bass and vibraphone only] Perhaps the bird knows nothing. Perhaps the bird knows all. Perhaps the branch is just a branch. That may be worst of all. [Final Chorus — wider, still deadpan] Pigeon on a branch, above the traffic, above the plan. Pigeon on a branch, without a theory of man. We invent a thousand answers to avoid one simple view: sometimes things are simply happening and nobody knows what to do. Pigeon on a branch. No manifesto. No applause. No explanation. No final cause. One small bird. One ordinary tree. And half the human race below explaining what it means to be. [Outro — low, close] The pigeon left the branch. No announcement was made. The committee continued meeting. Naturally.
