Three Little Birds

Don’t worry about a thing.

That’s it. That’s the whole song. Everything else is just Bob making sure you heard him.

He wrote this in London, 1977. Someone had just tried to kill him in Jamaica. His wife was shot. His manager was shot. He fled to England and sat in a room and watched birds land on his windowsill and wrote a song telling you not to worry.

I don’t know what to do with that.

I don’t know how a man with bullets meant for him writes something this gentle. This certain. This calm. Maybe exile does that. Maybe almost dying does that. Maybe he just understood something the rest of us don’t.

Rise up this morning. Smile with the rising sun. Let the small things remind you.

Three minutes. Three chords. Three birds.

Every little thing gonna be all right.