By all accounts, accounts it¡¯s true
|
Not that it matters much, much to the Blue
|
To the Blue, to the Blue
|
Heather Burns went, went to the field
|
To gather robin¡¯s eggs, eggs for her meal
|
For her meal, for her meal
|
|
Walking, she thought about
|
A coward, years ago
|
¡°Saint Jude, when will I learn?¡±
|
A snake side-winded
|
across her broken path
|
But Heather knew better and thought:
|
¡°What is done is done, what¡¯s done is done¡±
|
|
By all accounts, accounts it¡¯s fine
|
¡°One egg for Saint Jude, one egg is mine,
|
one is mine, one is mine¡±
|
She saw a nest, nest in an elm
|
Not-so high, yet another realm
|
Another realm, another realm
|
|
Reaching up, she felt
|
Two eggs with her fingers
|
And lightly picked them out
|
And lowering, one fell down
|
¡°One for Jude!¡±, the snake said
|
But Heather knew better and thought:
|
¡°What is done is done, what¡¯s done is done¡±
|
|
¡°Can¡¯t we raise the Dead anew?
|
Call me Robin Egg Blue¡±
|
|
By all accounts, accounts it¡¯s through
|
Not that it matters much to Robin Egg Blue
|
Robin Egg Blue, Robin Egg Blue
|
|
The snake followed her home
|
Along the broken path
|
The field needed to be burned
|
Inside, she set the egg down
|
¡°Should I not have been hungry?¡±
|
But Heather knew better and thought:
|
¡°What is done is done, what¡¯s done is done¡±
|
|
-----------------
|
Robin Egg Blue
|
Cass McCombs |