Robin Egg Blue

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 shake 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"