As I went out walkina?? One fine summer mornina?? The birds in the bushes Did whistle and sing The lads and the lasses In couples were a-courtina?? Goina
me. I became awareness that was shared with all around, With the trees, the sky, the flowers, and the wind, the sun, the ground. I heard the birds were singing
the depths of winter And no more shall we part All the hatchets have been buried now And all of birds will sing to your Beautiful heart upon the bough And no more shall
the depths of winter And no more shall we part All the hatchets have been buried now And all of birds will sing to your beautiful heart Upon the bough And no more shall
there, Lord Henry, Till the flesh rots off your bones! That prettier girl in the merry green lands, Shall mourn for your return." There was a pretty parrot bird
at all This green dream was unreal; the crickets sing Across deserts and plains the lost feast Whose shimmering teeth are marking the passing of time A cloud falls; a bird shivers and sings
all you lads and lasses, I'd have you give attention To these few lines I'm about to write here, 'Tis of the four seasons of the year that I shall mention
Whilst I decode-a the cranium of Yoda Rehearsing steadily, growing I sing tweeter, mid-range And woofers need guarding The bells rip your auditory canal Plagiarism is suicide for then I shall
to cuss If I was a woman I'd come as a woman and give you an angel you never could touch The spirit the light, the birds the flight, the bread and even
feel that my mother Now thinks of her child; As she looks on that moon From our own cottage door, Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance Shall cheer me no more
to ev'rything As Love's old story. Love is the strangest thing No song of birds upon the wing Shall in our hearts more sweetly sing Than Love's old
is all bad, When you're sour and blue, When you start to get mad You should do what I do- (The CAT mischievously lets the WHOS fall a few more feet
blind! flowers in bloom that I've never seen meadows a million hues of green I hear voices calling my name but where am I? songs of beauty the birds sing
philosopher's stones Never shall turn nothing into gold I'm awoken in the woods I'm searching for the nevershining stones And the man in white say I can't hear the birds singing
, half bullock Large swollen bollocks Mostly just swinging Itchy and stinging Stinging And there will be times, there will be times When sunset falls Like a wingless bird Never to sing
