Little Fly de Esperanza Spalding

Little fly
The summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away

Am not i
A fly like thee
Or art not thou
A man like me
Little fly

For i dance
And drink and sing
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing

I thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death
Little fly

Then am i
A happy fly
If i live
Or if i die